V 


THE   LAND   OF   PLUCK 


DONALD    AND    DOROTHY. 
HANS     DRINKER. 
THEOPHILUS    AND    OTHERS. 
ALONG    THE    WAY. 
RHYMES  AND    JINGLES. 
WHEN    LIFE    IS    YOUNG, 
ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC. 


TWO    BOYS    OF    HOLLAND. 
[From  au  old  Dutcli  painting.  J 


THE  LAND   OF   PLUCK 


STORIES  AND  SKETCHES 
FOR  YOUNG  FOLK 


BY 

MARY  MAPES   DODGE 

AUTHOR  OF  u  HANS  BRINKER  " 

"DONALD  AND  DOROTHY" 

"RHYMES  AND  JINGLES" 

ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1894 

M230423 


Copyright,  1894,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS. 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

The  paper  on  Holland  which  constitutes  Part  I 
of  this  book  has  now  been  expanded  to  more  than 
double  the  proportions  of  "The  Land  of  Pluck"  as 
printed  a  few  years  ago  in  "  St.  Nicholas." 

The  stories  and  sketches  composing  Part  II  are 
here  for  the  first  time  collected  in  book  form. 

TJie  frontispiece  "Two  Boys  of  Holland"  has  been 
engraved  from  a  fine  Dutch  painting,  attributed  to 
Cuyp,  and  owned  by  Mr.  Charles  T.  Barney  of  New 
York,  who  courteously  allowed  it  to  be  copied  for 
use  in  this  volume. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  LAND  OF  PLUCK. 

CHAPTER         I.  ON  BOTH  SIDES  OF  THE  DIKE 1 

CHAPTER       II.  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEWS 11 

CHAPTER      III.  WINTER  AND  SUMMER 17 

CHAPTER      IV.  STREETS  AND  BYWAYS 29 

CHAPTER       V.  DUTCH  ODDITIES 43 

CHAPTER      VI.  THE    BATAVIANS    AND    THEIR    GOOD 

MEADOW 57 

CHAPTER    VII.  THE  'DUTCH  HAVE  TAKEN  HOLLAND  .  64 

CHAPTER  VIII.  THE  DUTCH  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD  .  76 

CHAPTER     IX.  HOLLAND  TO-DAY 85 

DAY-DREAMS  ON  THE  DIKE 103 

PART   II.— STORIES   AND   SKETCHES 

WONDERING  TOM 115 

LITTLE  VEMBA  BROWN 137 

THE  CROW-CHILD 145 

TRAPPER  JOE 161 

THE  BRIGHTON  CATS 175 

WORTH  YOUR  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 185 

BIANCA  AND  BEPPO 195 

A  LAW  THAT  COULD  NOT  BE  BROKEN 203 

A  GARRET  ADVENTURE 211 

BORROWING  TROUBLE 225 

HEAVIER  THAN  AIR 231 

WHAT  THE  SNOW-MAN  DID 241 

KITTY'S  CANARY 253 

GRANDMOTHER 261 

Two  MAY-QUEENS 269 

LITTLE  HAL'S  RICHES 279 

ONLY  A  ROSE 287 

LIMPETTY  JACK 299 

BUBBLES  . .  307 


THE   LAND   OF   PLUCK 


CHAPTEE   I 

ON   BOTH    SIDES    OF   THE   DIKE 

*  AR  over  the  sea  is  a  famous  little  country 
generally  known   as   Holland ;   but  that 
name,  even  if  it  should  mean  Hollow  land, 
or  How  land  ?    does  not  describe  it  half  so 
well  as  this  — The  Little  Land  of  Pluck. 

Verily,  a  queerer  bit  of  earth  was  never  shone  upon  by 
the  sun  nor  washed  by  the  tide.  It  is  the  oddest,  funniest 
country  that  ever  raised  its  head  from  the  waves  (and, 
between  ourselves,  it  does  not  quite  do  that),  the  most 
topsyturvy  landscape,  the  most  amphibious  spot  in  the 
universe, —  as  the  Man  in  the  Moon  cannot  deny, —  the 
chosen  butt  of  the  elements,  and  good-naturedly  the 
laughing-stock  of  mankind.  Its  people  are  the  queerest 
and  drollest  of  all  the  nations ;  and  yet  so  plucky,  so  wise 

and  resolute  and   strong,  that  "  beating  the  Dutch  "  has 
i  i 


THE  LAND  OF  PLUCK 


.•beco'irid  a  familiar  byword  for  expressing  the  limits  of 
mortal  performance. 

As  for  the  country,  for  centuries  it  was  not  exactly 
anywhere ;  at  least  it  objected  to  remaining  just  the 
same  for  any  length  of  time,  in  any  one  place.  It  may 
be  said  to  have  lain  around  loose  on  the  waters  of  a 
certain  portion  of  Europe,  playing  peek-a-boo  with  its 
inhabitants ;  now  coming  to  the  surface  here  and  there 
to  attend  to  matters,  then  taking  a  dive  for  change  of 
scene, —  and  a  most  disastrous  dive  it  often  proved. 

Eip  Van  Winkle  himself  changed  less  between  his 
great  sleeping  and  waking  than  Holland  has  altered 
many  a  time,  between  sunset  and  dawn.  All  its  firm 
ness  and  permanence  seems  to  have  been  soaked  out  of 
it,  or  rather  to  have  filtered  from  the  land  into  the  people. 
Every  field  hesitates  whether  to  turn  into  a  pond  or  not, 
and  the  ponds  always  are  trying  to  leave  the  country  by 
the  shortest  cut.  One  would  suppose  that  under  this  con 
dition  of  things  the  only  untroubled  creatures  would  be 
turtles  and  ducks ;  but  no,  strangest  and  most  mysterious 
of  all,  every  living  thing  in  Holland  appears  to  be  thor 
oughly  placid  and  content!  The  Dutch  mind,  so  to  speak, 
is  at  once  anti-dry  and  waterproof.  Little  children  run 
about  in  fields  where  once  their  grandfathers  sailed  over 
the  billows ;  and  youths  and  maidens  row  their  pleasure- 
boats  where  their  ancestors  played  "  tag  "  among  the  hay 
stacks.  When  the  tide  sweeps  unceremoniously  over 
Mynheer's  garden,  he  lights  his  pipe,  takes  his  fishing-rod, 
and  sits  down  on  his  back  porch  to  try  his  luck.  If  his 
pet  pond  breaks  loose  and  slips  away,  he  whistles,  puts  up 


ON  BOTH  SIDES   OF  THE  DIKE  3 

a  dam  so  that  it  cannot  come  back,  and  decides  upon  the 
crop  to  be  raised  in  its  place.  None  but  the  Dutch  could 
live  so  tranquilly  in  Holland ;  though,  for  that  matter,  if 


'•'MYNHEER  SITS  DOWN  ON   HIS   BACK   PORCH  TO  TRY  HIS  LUCK." 

it  had  not  been  for  the  Dutch,  we  may  be  sure  that  by 
this  time  there  would  be  no  Holland  at  all. 

And  yet   this  very  Holland,   besides    holding  its  own 
place,  has  managed  to  gain   a  foothold  on  almost  every 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


quarter  of  the  globe.  An  account  of  its  colonies  is  a 
history  in  itself.  In  the  East  Indies  alone  it  has  under 
its  authority  more  than  thirty  million  people. 

It  is  said  that  the  Greenlanders,  in  spite  of  the  discom 
forts  of  their  country,  become  so  very  fond  of  it  that  even 
the  extreme  cold    is   considered  a  luxury. 
In  some  such  way,  I  suppose,  the  Hol 
lander  becomes  infatuated  with  water. 
He  deems  no  landscape,  no  pleasure- 
spot  complete   without  it.     It  is 
funny  to  see  the  artificial  pond 
that  a  Dutchman  will  have  be 
neath    his    very    window;     and 
funny,  also,  to  see  how  soon  the 
pond  will  try  to  look  like  land, 
by  filming  itself  over  with  a  coat 
of  green.     Many  of  the  city  peo 
ple   have   little    summer-houses, 
or  pavilions,  near  the  outskirts 
of  the  town.     They  are  built 
just  large  enough  for  the 
family    to    sit    in.     Each 
zomerhuis,  as  it  is  called, 
s=          is  sure  to  be  surrounded 
by  a  ditch,  if  indeed  it  is  not  built  out  over  the  water. 
Its  chief  ornaments  are  its  little  bridges,  its  fanciful  roof, 
and  its  Dutch  motto  painted  over  the  entrance.     Hither 
the  family  repair  on  summer  afternoons.     Mynheer  sips 
his  coffee,  smokes  his  pipe,  and  gazes  at  the  water.     His 
vrouw  knits  or  sews ;  and  the  children  fish  from  the  win- 


ON  BOTH  SIDES   OF  THE   DIKE  5 

dows,  or  climb  the  little  bridges,  or  paddle  about  in  .skiffs, 
gathering  yellow  water-lilies.  Near  by,  perhaps,  they  can 
hear  some  bargeman's  wife  singing  her  cheery  song  while 
busy  at  her  housekeeping,  or  rather  homekeeping,  for  she 
lives  on  the  canal-boat.  That  is  her  flower-garden  grow 
ing  on  a  corner  of  the  deck,  quite  unconscious  that  it  is 
doing  anything  remarkable  in  blooming  over  the  water. 
In  fact,  it  is  in  much  less  danger  of  sinking  there  than 

O  O 

it  would  be  on  shore. 

Now,  these  oddities  arise  mainly  from  the  fact  that 
though  mankind  cannot  help  admiring  this  Land  of  Pluck, 
the  ocean  has  always  looked  down  upon  it.  A  large  por 
tion  of  Holland  lies  below  the  level  of  the  sea, —  in  some 
places  as  much  as  twenty  or  thirty  feet.  Besides,  the 
country  abounds  with  lakes  and  rivers  that  persist  in 
swelling  and  choking  and  overflowing  to  such  a  degree 
that,  as  I  said  before,  none  but  the  Dutch  could  do 
anything  with  them.  All  this  disturbs  an  unpleasant 
phantom  named  Fog,  who  has  a  cousin  in  London.  He 
sometimes  rises  like  a  great  smoke  over  the  land,  shutting 
out  the  sunlight,  and  wrapping  everything  and  everybody 
in  a  veil  of  mist,  so  that  it  is  almost  as  much  as  a  person's 
life  is  worth  to  venture  out  of  doors,  for  fear  of  tumbling 
into  a  canal.  Again,  the  greater  part  of  Holland  is  so  flat 
that  the  wind  sweeps  across  it  in  every  direction,  putting 
the  waters  up  to  no  little  mischief,  and  blowing  about 
all  the  dry  sand  it  can  find,  heaping  it,  scattering  it,  in 
the  wildest  possible  way. 

What  wonder  the  Dutch  have  always  been  wise,  plucky, 
and  strong  ?  They  have  had  to  struggle  for  a  foothold 


6  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

upon  the  very  land  of  their  birth.  They  have  had  to  push 
back  the  ocean  to  prevent  it  from  rolling  in  upon  them. 
They  have  had  to  wall  in  the  rivers  and  lakes  to  keep 
them  within  bounds.  They  have  been  forced  to  decide 
which  should  be  land  and  which  should  be  water, — 
forever  digging,  building,  embanking,  and  pumping  for 
dear  existence.  They  had  no  stones,  no  timber,  that 
they  had  not  themselves  procured  from  elsewhere. 
Added  to  this,  they  have  had  the  loose,  blowing  sand 
in  their  mind's  eye  for  ages ;  never  forgetting  it,  gov 
erning  its  drifts,  and  where  its  vast,  silent  heapings  (as 
in  the  great  dunes  along  the  coast)  have  proved  use 
ful  as  a  protection,  they  have  planted  sea-bent  and 
other  vegetation  to  fasten  it  in  its  place.  Even  the  riotous 
wind  has  been  made  their  slave.  Caught  by  thousands  of 
long-armed  windmills,  it  does  their  grinding,  pumping, 
draining,  sawing.  When  it  ceases  to  blow,  those  great 
white  sleeve-like  sails  all  over  the  country  hang  limp  and 
listless  in  the  misty  air,  or  are  tucked  trimly  out  of  sight ; 
but  let  the  first  breath  of  a  gale  be  felt,  and  straightway, 
with  one  flutter  of  preparation,  every  arm  is  turning  slowly, 
steadily,  with  a  peculiar  plenty-of-time  air,  or  is  whirling 
as  if  the  spirit  of  seventy  Dutchmen  had  taken  posses 
sion  of  it. 

You  scarcely  can  stand  anywhere  in  Holland  without 
seeing  from  one  to  twenty  windmills.  Many  of  them  are 
built  in  the  form  of  a  two-story  tower,  the  second  story 
being  smaller  than  the  first,  with  a  balcony  at  its  base 
from  which  it  tapers  upward  until  the  cap-like  top  is 
reached.  High  up,  near  the  roof,  the  great  axis  juts  from 


ON  BOTH  SIDES   OF  THE  DIKE 


ONE    OF    THE     WINDMILLS. 


the  wall;  and  to  this  are  fastened  two  prodigious  arms, 
formed  somewhat  like  ladders,  bearing  great  sheets  of  can 
vas,  whose  business  it  is  to  catch  the  mischief-maker  and 
set  him  at  work.  These  mills  stand  like  huge  giants 
guarding  the  country.  Their  bodies  are  generally  of  a 
dark  red ;  and  their  heads,  or  roofs,  are  made  to  turn  this 
way  and  that,  according  to  the  direction  of  the  wind. 
Their  round  eye-window  is  always  staring.  Altogether, 
they  seem  to  be,  keeping  a  vigilant  watch  in  every  direc- 


8 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


tion.  Sometimes  they  stand  clustered  together;  some 
times  alone,  like  silent  sentinels  ;  sometimes  in  long  rows, 
like  ranks  of  soldiers.  You  see  them  rising  from  the 
midst  of  factory  buildings,  by  the  cottages,  on  the  polders 
(the  polders  are  lakes  pumped  dry  and  turned  into  farms) ; 
on  the  wharves ;  by  the  rivers ;  along  the  canals ;  on  the 
dikes ;  in  the  cities  —  everywhere  !  Holland  would  n't 


7 


"  ALONG    THE    CANAL. 


be  Holland  without  its  windmills,  any  more  than  it  would 
be  Holland  without  its  dikes  and  its  Dutchmen. 

A  certain  zealous  dame  is  said  to  have  once  attempted 
to  sweep  the  ocean  away  with  a  broom.  The  Dutch  have 
been  wiser  than  she.  They  are  a  slow  and  deliberate  people. 
Desperation  may  use  brooms,  but  deliberation  prefers  clay 
and  solid  masonry.  So,  slowly  and  deliberately,  the  dikes, 
those  great  walls  of  cement  and  stone,  have  risen  to 
breast  the  buffeting  waves.  And  the  queer  part  of  it  is, 


ON  BOTH  SIDES   OF  THE  DIKE 


A    DUTCH     DIKE    AS     SEEN     FROM     THE     LAND     SIDE. 

they  are  so  skilfully  slanted  and  paved  on  the  outside 
with  flat  stones  that  the  efforts  of  the  thumping  waves 
to  beat  them  down  only  make  them  all  the  firmer ! 

These  Holland  dikes  are  among  the  wonders  of  the 
\voiid.  I  cannot  say  for  how  many  miles  they  stretch 
along  the  coast,  and  throughout  the  interior ;  but  you  may 
be  sure  that  wherever  a  dike  is  necessary  to  keep  back 
the  encroaching  waters,  there  it  is.  Otherwise,  nothing 
would  be  there — at  least,  nothing  in  the  form  of  land; 
nothing  but  a  fearful  illustration  of  the  principal  law  of 
hydrostatics :  Water  always  seeks  its  level. 

Sometimes  the  dikes,  however  carefully  builded,  will 
spring  a  leak,  and  if  this  be  not  promptly  attended  to,  terri 
ble  results  are  sure  to  follow.  In  threatened  places  guards 
are  stationed  at  intervals,  and  a  steady  watch  is  kept  up 
night  and  day.  At  the  first  signal  of  danger,  every  Dutchman 
within  hearing  of  the  startling  bell  is  ready  to  rush  to  the 
rescue.  When  the  weak  spot  is  discovered,  what  do  you 
think  is  used  to  meet  the  emergency  ?  What,  but  straw— 
everywhere  else  considered  the  most  helpless  of  all  things 


10  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

in  water !  Yet  straw,  in  the  hands  of  the  Dutch,  has  a 
will  of  its  own.  Woven  into  huge  mats  and  securely 
pressed  against  the  embankment,  it  defies  even  a  rush 
ing  tide,  eager  to  sweep  over  the  country. 

These  dikes  form  almost  the  only  perfectly  dry  land  to 
be  seen  from  the  ocean-side.  They  are  high  and  wide, 
with  fine  carriage-roads  on  top,  sometimes  lined  with 
buildings,  windmills,  and  trees.  On  one  side  of  them,  and 
nearly  on  a  level  with  the  edge,  is  the  sea,  lake,  canal,  or 
river,  as  the  case  may  be;  on  the  other,  the  flat  fields 
stretching  damply  along  at  their  base.  Cottage  roofs, 
therefore,  may  be  lower  than  the  shining  line  of  the 
water;  frogs  squatting  on  the  shore  can  take  quite  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  the  landscape;  and  little  fish  wriggle 
their  tails  higher  than  the  tops  of  the  willows  near  by. 
Horses  look  complacently  down  upon  the  bell-towers ; 
and  men  in  skiffs  and  canal-boats  cannot  know  when 
they  are  passing  Dirk's  cottage  close  by,  except  by  seeing 
the  smoke  from  its  chimney, — or  perhaps  the  cart-wheel 
that  he  has  perched  upon  the  peak  of  its  overhanging 
thatched  roof,  in  the  hope  that  some  stork  will  build  her 
nest  there,  and  so  bring  him  good  luck. 

A  butterfly  may  take  quite  an  upward  flight  in  Holland, 
leaving  flowers  and  shrubs  and  trees  beneath  her,  and, 
after  all,  mount  only  to  where  a  snail  is  sunning  himself 
on  the  water's  edge ;  or  a  toad  may  take  a  reckless  leap 
from  the  land  side  of  the  dike,  and,  alighting  on  a  tree- 
top,  be  obliged  to  reach  earth  in  monkey-fashion,  by  leaping 
from  branch  to  branch  ! 


CHAPTEE   II 

BIRD'S-EYE  VIEWS 

kO  the  birds,  skimming  high  over  the 
country,  it  must  be  a  fanciful  sight — this 
Holland.  There  are  the  fertile  farms  or 
polders,  studded  with  cattle  and  bright  red 
cottages  ;  shortwaisted  men,  women,  and  children, 
moving  about  in  wide  jackets  and  big  wooden  shoes; 
trees  everywhere  clipped  into  fantastical  shapes,  with  their 
trunks  colored  white,  yellow,  or  brick  red ;  country  man 
sions  too,  and  farm-houses  gaudy  with  roofs  of  brightly 
tinted  tiles.  These  tiles  are  made  of  a  kind  of  glazed  earthen 
ware,  and  make  one  feel  as  if  all  the  pie-dishes  in  the  country 
were  lapped  in  rows  on  top  of  the  buildings.  Then  the 
great  slanting  dikes,  with  their  waters  held  up  as  if  to  catch 
the  blue  of  the  sky  ;  the  ditches,  canals,  and  rivers  trailing 
their  shining  lengths  in  every  direction ;  shining  lines  of 
railway,  too,  that  now  connect  most  of  the  principal  points 
of  the  Netherlands ;  then,  the  thousands  of  bridges,  little 
and  big ;  the  sluice-gates,  canal-locks,  and  windmills ;  the 
silver  and  golden  weathercocks  perched  on  one  foot,  and 
twitching  right  and  left  to  show  their  contempt  for  the 


12 


THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 


wind.  All  this,  as  you  must  know,  makes  the  sun  jeweler- 
in-chief  to  the  landscape,  which  shines  and  glitters  and 
trembles  with  motion  and  light.  Yet  that  is  only  one 
way  of  looking  at  it.  A  low-spirited  bird  might  still  see 


CAPSIZING 


only  marshes  and  puddles,  though  he  might  learn  a  good 
lesson  or  two  in  seeing  jolly  Dutch  folk,  young  and  old, 
making  merry  over  every-day  affairs.  Or  one  of  the  prac 
tical  every-day  sort  might  notice  only  commonplace  things 
—  such  as  the  country  roads  paved  with  yellow  bricks ; 
cabbage-plots  scarcely  greener  than  the  ponds  nestling 
everywhere  among  the  reeds ;  cottages,  with  roofs  ever  so 


BIRD'S-EYE    FIEWti  13 

much  too  big  for  them,  perched  upon  wooden  legs  to  keep 
them  from  sinking  in  the  marsh;  and  horses  wearing 
wide,  stool-like  shoes  for  the  same  reason.  Or  they  might 
watch  the  wagons  bumping  along  with  drivers  sitting  out 
side,  kicking  the  funny  little  crooked  pole;  or  horses 
yoked  three  abreast,  dragging  obstinate  loads ;  or  women 
and  boys  harnessed  to  long  towing-ropes,  meekly  drawing 
their  loads  of  market-stuff  up  and  down  the  canal. 

Then  there  are  the  boats,  large  and  small,  of  every  pos 
sible  Dutch  style ;  wonderful  ships  made  to  breast  the 
rough  seas  of  the  coast ;  fishing-smacks  (smaksckepen), 
heavy  with  fresh  catches ;  the  round-steriied  craft  by  the 
cities,  with  their  gilded  prows  and  gaily  painted  sides ; 
trekschuiten,  or  water-omnibuses,  plying  up  and  down  the 
canals  for  the  conveyance  of  passengers;  brown-sailed 
pakschuiten,  or  water-carts,  for  carrying  coal  and  mer 
chandise  upon  these  same  water-roads ;  barges  loaded 


A    WATER    OMNIBUS. 


14 


THE   LAND    OF  PLUCK 


with  peat ;  pleasure-boats  with  their  showy  sails ;  the 
little  skiffs,  the  rafts,  the  chip  boats  launched  by  white- 
haired  urchins  kneeling  in  the  mud. 


OVER    THE     CHIMNEYS    AND     HOUSE-TOPS     (AMSTERDAM). 

Then,  mingling  confusedly  with  masts,  and  windmills, 
and  sails  are  the  long  rows  of  willows,  firs,  beeches,  or 
elms,  planted  on  the  highways  wherever  root-hold  can  be 
found  or  manufactured  ;  the  stiff,  symmetrical  gardens, 
with  their  nodding  tulips  and  brilliant  shrubs ;  the  great 
white  storks  flying  to  and  fro  with  outstretched  necks 
and  legs,  busily  attending  to  family  needs,  or  settling  upon 
the  quaint  gabled  roofs,  perhaps,  of  Amsterdam ;  water-fowl 


BIRD'S-EYE    VIEWS 


15 


dipping  with  soft  splashings  into  the  tide  ;  rabbits  scudding 
here  and  there ;  water-rats  slyly  slipping  into  their  cran 
nies,  and  bright  water-insects  rocking  at  the  surface  on 
reed  and  tangleweed.  Seeing  all  this,  our  birds  have  not 
seen  half ;  but  they  have  ample  time  to  look,  for  bird-life 
is  not  the  uncertain  thing  in  Holland  that  it  is  here.  They 
are  citizens  loved  and  respected,  and  protected  by  rigorous 
laws.  Stones  are  not  thrown  at  their  heads,  nor  is  "  salt 
sprinkled  upon  their  tails."  They  are  not  afraid  of  guns, 
for  the  law  has  its  eye  on  the  gunners ;  and,  strangest  of 
all,  they  see  nothing  terrible  in  small  boys  !  Young  eyes, 
to  be  sure,  often  peep  into  their  nests;  but  the  owners 
have  been  taught  not  to  rob  nor  molest.  Human  mothers 
and  bird  mothers  are  in  secret  league.  Indeed,  the  softest, 
warmest  nest  is  not  softer  nor  warmer  than  the  Dutch 
heart  has  proved  itself  to  the  birds. 


MYNHEER     ON     HIS     WAY     TO     BUSINESS. 


CHAPTEE   III 

WINTER   AND    SUMMER 

tlie  coldest  days  of  winter  come,  and 
the  little  songsters — and  their  greedy  cou 
sins,  the  storks — have  flown  away  in  search 
of  warmer  climes,  the  country  still  is  in  a  glitter,  for  its 
waters  are  frozen.  Then  all  Holland  puts  011  its  skates, 
and  gets  atop  of  its  beloved  water,  in  which  before  it  has 
only  dabbled.  Everybody,  young  and  old,  little  and  big, 
goes  skimming  and  sliding  along  the  canals,  over  the  lakes, 
and  on  the  rivers. 

The  entire  country  seems  one  vast  skating-rink.  No 
need  of  red  balls  to  tell  the  people  that  everything  is 
ready  for  the  sport.  They  know  that,  in  their  land,  a 
cold  winter  means  ice, —  and  good  solid  ice,  too, —  some 
times  for  weeks  together.  Then  come  out  the  skaters ; 
and  the  sleighs;  and  the  happy,  sliding-chair  folk  who 
are  pushed  swiftly  over  the  ice  by  friends,  or  by  livened 
lackeys,  gliding  close  behind.  Then  appear, — swiftest, 
most  dazzling  of  all, — the  ice-boats,  perhaps  with  merry 
loads  of  laughing  boys  and  singing  school-children.  Lis 
tening  to  these  sweet  choruses,  as  they  suddenly  burst 


18 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


upon  you  and  then  as  suddenly  die  away  with  the  vanish 
ing  boat,  you  feel  that  not  the  wind  but  the  joyous  music 
fills  the  sails  skimming  so  swiftly  over  the  ice. 

As  you  may  well  believe,  these  flying,  whizzing  ice 
boats  always  get  the  right  of  way,  for  nobody  wrould 
willingly  come  into  collision  with  them.  They  seem  to 


THB    ICE-BOATS    ARE     OUT  ! 


know  that  their  season  is  brief,  at  the  best,  and  they  make 
speed  while  the  ice  shines. 

Now,  there  is  a  new  sensation  among  the  pleasure-seek 
ers.  Distant  shouts  of  men  are  heard,  and  faint  crashing 
sounds  slowly  growing  louder.  The  ijsbrekers  are  out ! 
These,  as  you  may  guess  by  trying  to  pronounce  the  word, 
are  provided  with  pikes  for  clearing  a  way  through  the  ice, 
so  that  barges  and  other  vessels  may  pass.  Sometimes 
they  are  rather  small  affairs,  worked  by  hand,  and  some 
times  are  large  and  heavy,  and  drawn  by  as  many  as 


WINTER  AND   SUMMER  19 

twenty  or  even  thirty  horses.  There  is  no  little  excite 
ment  among  the  boys  and  girls'  when  a  big  ice-breaker 
comes  out  for  the  first  time  in  the  season.  The  great 
crashing  thing  inspires  them  with  wonder  and  admiration; 
yet  with  all  its  power  it  cuts  only  a  narrow  pathway  for 
the  boats.  The  main  face  of  the  country  belongs  to  the 
skaters. 

For  miles  and  miles  the  glassy  ice  spreads  its  mirror 
under  the  blinking  and  dazzled  sun.  Everywhere  is  one 
shining  network  of  slippery  highway.  Who  would  walk 
or  ride  then  ?  Not  one.  Doctors  skate  to  their  patients; 
clergymen  to  their  parishioners ;  marketwomen  to  town 
with  baskets  upon  their  heads.  Laborers  go  skimming  by, 
with  tools  on  their  shoulders ;  and  tradespeople,  busily 
planning  the  day's  affairs ;  fat  old  burgomasters,  too,  with 
gold-headed  canes  cautiously  nourished  to  keep  them  in 
balance ;  laughing  girls  with  arms  entwined ;  long  files  of 
young  men,  shouting  as  they  pass ;  children  with  school- 
satchels  slung  over  their  shoulders, —  all  whizzing  by,  this 
way  and  that,  until  you  can  see  nothing  but  the  flashing 
of  skates,  and  a  rushing  confusion  of  color. 

And  while  all  this  is  happening  in  the  open  air,  the 
simple  indoor  life  -is  steadily  going  on,  in  the  homes,  the 
shops,  the  churches,  the  schools,  the  workshops,  the 
picture-galleries. 

Ah,  the  picture-galleries  !  All  Hollanders,  from  the  very 
richest  and  most  cultivated  to  almost  the  very  humblest, 
visit  and  enjoy  the  rare  collections  of  paintings  that  en 
noble  their  principal  towns  and  cities.  And  what  pictures 
those  old  Dutchmen  have  painted !  The  Dutchmen  of  to- 


20  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

day  well  may  be  proud  of  them.  There  was  Rembrandt 
Van  Eyn  (of  the  111  line),  perhaps  the  greatest  portrait- 
painter  this  world  has  ever  known ;  and  Franz  Hals  and 
Van  der  Heist  and  Van  Ostade,  and  the  careful  Gerard 
Don,  and  Mieris  and  the  two  Cuyps,  father  and  son,  and 
Teniers  and  Adriaen  Hanneman,  and  other  great  paint 
ers  by  the  score.  You  must  read  about  them,  and  some 
day  see  their  pictures,  if  indeed  you  have  not  already  come 
upon  them  either  in  your  books  or  on  your  travels. 

But  if  you  visit  no  other,  you  surely  must  plan  some 
day  to  go  to  the  Eyks  Museum  at  Amsterdam,  and  see  its 
collection  of  priceless  Eembrandts  and  other  treasures  of 
Dutch  art. 

If  you  go  to  Holland  in  summer  and  look  at  the  people, 
you  will  wonder  when  all  the  work  was  done,  and  who  did 
it.  The  country  folk  move  so  slowly  and  serenely,  looking 
as  if  to  smoke  their  pipes  were  quite  as  much  as  they 
care  to  do, —  they  have  so  little  to  say,  and  seem  to  see 
you  only  because  their  eyes  happen  to  be  open.  You  feel 
sure  if  by  any  accident  the  lids  dropped  they  would  not 
be  lifted  again  in  a  hurry.  Yet  there  are  the  dikes,  the 
water-roads,  the  great  ship-canals,  the  fine  old  towns,  the 
magnificent  cities,  the  colleges,  the  galleries,  the  charit 
able  institutions,  the  churches.  There  are  the  public 
parks,  the  beautiful  country-seats,  the  immense  factories, 
the  herring-packeries,  the  docks,  the  shipping-yards,  the 
railways,  and  the  telegraphs.  Surely  these  Hollanders 
must  work  in  their  sleep  ! 

But  though  the  men  outside  of  Amsterdam  and  the 
large  cities  may  screen  themselves  with  a  mask  of  dull- 


KEMBKANDT'S  PORTRAIT  OF   HIMSELF. 


WINTER  AND  SUMMER 


23 


ness,  it  is  not  so  with  the  women.  They  are  as  lively 
as  one  could  wish,  taller  in  proportion  than  the  men, 
with  fresh,  rosy  faces,  and  hair  that  matches  the  sun 
shine.  Many  of  them  are  elegant  and  graceful.  As  for 
work, — well,  if  there  could  be  such  a  thing  as  a  Dutch 
Barnum,  he  would  make 
his  fortune  by  exhibiting 
a  lazy  Dutchwoman — if 
he  could  find  one !  Ah ! 
how  they  work! — brush 
ing,  mopping,  scrubbing, 
and  polishing.  Judging 
from  some  houses  that  I 
have  seen  in  Holland,  I  do 
believe  the  tiniest  Lillipu 
tian  that  Gulliver  ever 
saw  could  not  fill  his 
pockets  with  dust  if  he 
searched  through  dozens 
of  Dutch  homes. 

Broek,  a  little  village 
near  beautiful  Amster 
dam,  that  city  of  ninety 
islands,  is  said  to  be  the 
cleanest  place  in  the  world. 
It  used  to  be  quite  famous 
for  its  North-Holland  pe 
culiarities — and  even  to-day  it  has  strong  characteristics 
of  its  own.  It  is  inhabited  mainly  by  retired  Dutch  mer 
chants  and  their  families,  who  seem  determined  to  enjoy 


A     PRETTY     HOLLANDER. 


24  THE   LAND    OF  PLUCK 

the  world  as  it  appears  when  scrubbed  to  a  polish.  Every 
morning  the  village  shines  forth  as  fresh  as  if  it  had  just 
taken  a  bath.  The  wooden  houses  are  as  bright  and  gay 
as  paint  can  make  them.  Their  shining  tiled  roofs  and 
polished  facings  flash  up  a  defiance  to  the  sun  to  find  a 
speck  of  dust  upon  them.  Certain  dooryards,  curiously 
paved  with  shells  and  stones,  look  like  enormous  mosaic 
brooches  pinned  to  the  earth  ;  the  little  canals  and  ditches, 
instead  of  crawling  sluggishly  as  many  of  their  kindred  do, 
flow  with  a  limpid  cleanliness ;  the  streets  of  fine  yellow 
brick  are  carefully  sanded.  Even  the  children  walk  as  if 
they  were  trying  to  make  their  wooden  shoes  express  a 
due  respect  for  sand  and  pebbles.  Horses  and  wheeled 
vehicles  of  any  kind  are  not  allowed  within  the  borders 
of  the  town.  The  pea-green  window-shutters  usually  are 
closed ;  and  the  main  entrances  of  cottages  never  are 
opened  except  on  the  occasion  of  a  christening,  a  wedding, 
or  a  funeral,  or  when  the  dazzling  brass  knobs  and  knock 
ers  are  to  be  rendered  more  dazzling  still. 

The  gardens  are  as  trim  and  complete  as  the  houses  ;  but 
in  summer  the  flower-beds,  all  laid  out  in  little  patches, 
are  bright  with  audacious  blossoms  nodding  saucily  to  the 
prim  box-border  that  incloses  them.  Most  of  you  have 
seen  the  stocky,  thick-stemmed  box-plant,  with  its  dense 
growth  of  dark,  glossy  little  leaves.  Every  old-fashioned 
country-place  in  our  own  Middle  States  has  had  its  box- 
bordered  flower-beds,  with  occasional  taller  clumps  of  the 
shrub,  looking  like  dumpy  little  trees.  Well,  the  box- 
plants  in  Broek  -grow  in  a  similar  way,  but  they  are  very 
old,  and  the  work  of  trimming  and  shaping  their  hedges 


PORTRAIT    OF    A    BOY,    BY    ADRIAEN     HANNEMAN    (BORN     l6lO,    DIED    1666). 


WINTER  AND   SUMMER  27 

may  have  been  handed  down  from  father  to  son  for  gener 
ations.  Nearly  every  garden  in  Broek  has  its  zomerkuis 
and  its  pond.  Some  of  these  ponds  have  queer  automata 
—or  self-moving  figures — upon  them :  sometimes  a  duck 
that  paddles  about  and  flaps  its  wooden  wings ;  some 
times  a  wooden  sportsman  standing  upon  the  shore,  jerkily 
taking  aim  at  the  duck,  but  never  quite  succeeding  in 
getting  his  range  accurate  enough  to  warrant  firing ;  and 
sometimes  a  dog  stands  among  the  shrubbery  and  snaps 
his  jaws  quite  fiercely  when  he  is  not  too  damp  to  work. 
Queer  things,  too,  are  seen  in  the  growing  box,  which  is 
trimmed  so  as  to  fail  in  resembling  peacocks  and  wolves. 
Altogether,  Broek  is  a  very  remarkable  place.  The 
dairy-ly  inclined  inhabitants  regard  their  kine  as  friends 
and  fellow-lodgers,  and  so  the  very  cattle  there  live  in 
fine  style.  Pet  cows,  it  is  said,  sometimes  rejoice  in 
pretty  blue  ribbons  tied  to  their  tails, —  and  in  winter 
they  not  uncommonly  find  themselves  daintily  housed 
beneath  the  family  roof. 

In  some  Dutch  houses  the  rooms  are  covered  with  two 
or  three  carpets,  laid  one  over  the  other,  and  others  have 
no  carpets  at  all,  but  the  floors  are  polished,  or  perhaps 
made  of  tiles  laid  in  regular  patterns.  Sometimes  doors 
are  curtained  like  the  windows,  and  the  beds  are  nearly 
concealed  by  heavy  draperies.  Many  among  the  poorer 
classes  sleep  in  rough  boxes,  or  on  shelves  fixed  in  recesses 
against  the  wall ;  so  that  sometimes  the  best  bed  in  the 
cottage  looks  more  like  a  cupboard  than  anything  else. 

Whether  having  so  much  water  about  suggested  the 
idea  or  not,  T  cannot  say,  but  certain  it  is  that  big  Mocks 


28  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

of  imported  cork  are  quite  in  fashion  for  footstools.  They 
stand  one  on  each  side  of  the  great  open  fireplace,  as 
though  the  household  intended  to  have  at  least  a  couple 
of  life-preservers  on  hand,  in  case  of  a  general  flood.  The 
large  earthen  cup,  or  fire-pot,  that  you  may  see  standing 
near,  filled  with  burning  peat,  and  casting  a  bright  glow 
over  the  Dutch  sentence  inscribed  on  the  tiles  arching  the 
fireplace,  is  very  useful  for  warming  the  room  on  chilly 
days,  when  it  is  not  quite  cold  enough  for  a  fire.  For  that 
matter,  it  is  a  general  custom  in  Holland  to  use  little  tin 
fire-boxes  (with  a  handle,  and  with  holes  in  the  top  lid) 
for  warming  the  feet.  Our  Dutch  ancestors  brought  some 
of  them  over  to  America  long  ago,  and  many  grown-up 
New-Yorkers  can  remember  seeing  similar  ones  in  use. 
In  Holland  every  lady  has  her  voet  stoof,  or  foot-stove. 
Churches  are  provided  with  a  large  number ;  and  on  Sun 
day,  boys  and  sometimes  old  women,  bearing  high  piles  of 
them,  move  softly  about,  distributing  them  among  the 
congregation. 


A     DUTCH     FOOT-STOVE. 


CHAPTEE    IV 

STREETS   AND   BYWAYS 

XNLY  an  hour's  ride  on  the  railroad 
from  Broek  to  Amsterdam — and  yet 
how  different  are  the  two  !  Here, 
as  in  the  other  large  Dutch  cities, 
you  see  a  brisk  business  look  on 
the  men's  faces.  They  are  slighter 
in  build  than  the  rustic  folk ;  and, 
__,_  _  not  having  such  broad  backs  and  short 
legs,  not  wearing  leather  breeches  and  wide  jackets  and 
big  waist-buckles  as  the  countrymen  do,  they  quite  make 
you  forget  that  they  are  Dutch.  In  fact  they  look  like 
New-Yorkers.  Nowadays,  the  fashions  and  the  stiff  mas 
culine  costume  of  Paris  and  London  tend  to  make  nearly 
all  city  folk  of  the  Christian  world  look  alike. 

Still,  often  in  Dutch  cities  you  see  something  distinctive 
in  costume,— huge  coal-scuttle  bonnets  on  the  women; 
and  wooden  shoes,  that  clatter-clatter  at  every  step. 
Some  of  the  women  and  girls  have  their  hair  cropped  short 
and  wear  close-fitting  caps;  and  these  caps  and  head- 


30  THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 

dresses  are  seen  in  great  variety.  Some  have  plain  gold 
bands  over  the  forehead,  others  have  gold  or  silver  plates 
at  the  back,  and  some  have  deep  folds  of  rich  lace  hanging 
from  them.  The  writer  once  saw  two  young  women  walk 
ing  together  in  Eotterdam,  one  of  whom  wore  a  fashion 
able  French  bonnet,  and  the  other  a  queer  head-gear  with 
rosettes  and  golden  "  blinders  "  projecting  on  each  side  of 
her  forehead.  Little  girls  often  are  very  charming  with 
their  sweet,  bright  faces,  their  clean,  trig,  simple  attire,  and 
their  queer  white  caps  decked  with  a  gold  band  over  the 
forehead  and  small  gold  twirls  dangling  at  each  side.  The 
little  visitor  in  the  picture  on  page  31  is  one  of  these,  and 
you  see  how  carefully  she  has  slipped  off  her  wooden  shoes 
so  as  not  to  soil  her  hostess's  spotless  floors.  Then  there 
are  the  boys,  cheerful,  clean,  and  sturdy ;  some  dressed  in 
modern-looking  hats  and  suits ;  but  others  wearing  such 
short  jackets  and  loose  knee-breeches,  you  would  declare 
they  had  borrowed  the  former  from  their  little  brothers 
and  the  latter  from  their  grandfathers. 

Now  and  then,  in  our  own  country,  we  hear  vague  ru 
mors  of  a  person  having  been  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in 
his  mouth.  As  a  rule,  we  scorn  to  credit  such  stories,  but 
if  we  were  told  that  all  Dutchmen  were  born  with  pipes  in 
their  mouths,  we  probably  should  not  consider  it  worth 
while  to  doubt.  In  making  an  inventory  of  a  Dutch  rus 
tic's  face,  you  would  need  to  mention  two  eyes,  two  ears, 
one  nose,  one  mouth,  and  one  pipe.  To  be  sure,  there 
might  be  but  one  eye,  or  one  ear,  or  no  nose ;  but  there 
certainly  would  be  a  pipe.  The  pipe-rack  on  the  wall,  and 
a  large  box  of  tobacco  attached  beneath,  so  that  any  guest 


""  ;i; 


A    LITTLE     VISITOR. 


STREETS  AND   BYWAYS 


33 


A     MAIDEN     FROM     MONNIKENDAM. 


or  stranger  may  help  himself,  may  frequently  be  seen  in 
Dutch  farm-houses.  The  men,  and  too  often  the  boys, 
smoke,  smoke,  smoke,  as  if  some  malicious  fairy  had  given 
them  a  perpetual  season- 
ticket  for  enjoying  the  priv 
ilege.  Perhaps  that  is  why 
they  seem  so  sleepy ;  and  yet, 
with  what  a  sudden  glow 
both  pipe  and  Dutchman 
can  brighten  at  a  whiff ! 

Instead  of  seeming  to 
shrivel  up,  inside  and  out, 
as  constant  smokers  in 
other  lands  are  apt  to  do, 
a  Dutchman  grows  sleeker 
and  fatter  behind  his  pipe ;  as  if  the  same  fairy  who  gave 
him  the  season-ticket  had  perched  herself  invisibly  on  the 
bowl  and  was  continually  blowing  him  out  like  a  rubber 
balloon. 

All  things  are  reversed  in  Holland.  The  main  entrance 
to  the  finest  public  building  in  the  country,  The  Palace,1 
or  late  town-hall,  of  Amsterdam,  is  its  back  door.  Bash 
ful  maidens  hire  beaus  to  escort  them  to  the  Kermis,  or 
fair,  on  festival-days.  Timid  citizens  are  scared  in  the 
dead  of  the  night  by  their  own  watchmen,  who  at  every 
quarter  of  the  hour  make  such  a  noise  with  their  wooden 
clappers,  one  would  suppose  the  town  to  be  on  fire.  You 

1  A  noble  town-hall  it  is,  too  ;  but  the  building,  to  be  safe  and  dry,  has 
to  stand  on  more  than  thirteen  thousand  piles  driven  deep  into  the 

spongy  soil. 
3 


STREETS  AND  BYWAYS  35 

will  see  sleds  used  in  summer  there.  They  go  bumping 
over  the  bare  cobblestones,  while  the  driver  holds  a  drip 
ping  oil-rag  in  advance  of  the  runners  to  lessen  the  fric 
tion.  You  will  see  streets  of  water ;  and  the  country 
roads  paved  as  carefully  as  Broadway.  You  will  see 
vessels  hitched,  like  horses,  to  their  owners'  door-posts ; 
and  whole  rows  of  square-peaked  houses  with  overlapping 
stories  and  roofs  seeming  to  lean  over  the  street,  just 
as  if  they  were  getting  ready  to  tumble.  Instead  of  sol 
emn,  striking  clocks,  you  will  hear  church  chimes  playing 
snatches  of  operatic  airs  every  quarter  of  an  hour,  by 
way  of  marking  the  time. 

You  will  see  looking-glasses  hanging  outside  of  the 
dwellings ;  and,  occasionally,  mysterious  pincushions  dis 
played  on  the  street-doors.  The  first  are  called  spionnen 
(or  spi&nnetjen),  and  are  so  arranged  outside  of  the  win 
dows,  that  persons  sitting  inside  can,  without  being  seen, 
enjoy  a  reflection  of  all  that  is  going  on  in  the  street. 
They  can  learn,  too,  what  visitor  may  be  coming,  and 
watch  him  rubbing  his  soles  to  a  polish  before  entering. 
The  pincushion  means  that  a  new  baby  has  appeared  in 
the  household.  If  white  or  blue,  the  new-comer  is  a  girl ; 
if  red,  it  is  a  little  Dutchman.  Some  of  these  signals 
are  very  showy  affairs ;  some  are  not  cushions  at  all,  but 
merely  shingles  trimmed  with  ribbon  or  lace ;  and,  among 
the  poorest  class,  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see  merely  a 
white  or  red  string  tied  to  the  door-latch — fit  token  of 
the  meager  life  the  poor  little  stranger  is  destined  to  lead. 

Sometimes,  instead  of  either  pincushion  or  shingle, 
you  will  see  a  large  placard  hung  outside  of  the  front 


36 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 
BI.V 

11 


SOME    ONE    AT     THE     WINDOW    IS     WATCHING! 

door.  Then  you  may  know  that  somebody  in  the  house 
is  ill,  and  his  or  her  present  condition  is  described  on 
the  placard  for  the  benefit  of  inquiring  friends ;  and 
sometimes,  when  such  a  placard  has  been  taken  down, 
you  may  meet  a  grim-looking  man  on  the  street,  dressed 
in  black  tights,  a  short  cloak,  and  a  high  hat,  from  which 
a  long  black  streamer  is  flying.  This  is  the  Aanspreker, 
going  from  house  to  house  to  tell  certain  persons  that 
their  friend  is  dead.  He  attends  to  funerals,  and  bears 
invitations  to  all  friends  whose  presence  may  be  desired. 
A  strange  weird-looking  figure  he  is ;  and  lie  wears  a 
peculiar,  professional  cast  of  countenance  that  is  any 
thing  but  refreshing. 

Ah !    here   is   something   more   cheerful !     For  now  a 
little  cart  rattles  past,  drawn  by  a  span  of  orderly  dogs, 


38 


THE   LAND    OF  PLUCK 


and  filled  with  shining 
brass  kettles  that  were 
brimming  with  milk  when 
it  started  on  its  round. 
How  nimbly  the  little  ani 
mals  trot  over  the  stones  ! 
How  promptly  they  heed 
the  voice  of  their  young 
master  stalking  leisurely 
along  the  sidew— -  no, 
not  on  the  sidewalk, 
but  on  the  narrow  foot 
path  of  yellow  brick  that 
stretches  along  near  the 
houses !  Excepting  this, 
the  cobble  pavement,  if 
there  be  no  canal,  reaches 
entirely  across  the  street  from  door  to  door.  Occasionally 
one  may  see  clogs  dragging  tiny  fish-carts.  They  jog 


A    YOUNG    WATER-CARRIER. 


KKADV     FOR     CUSTOMERS. 


STREETS  AND  BYWAYS 


39 


along  in  such  practised  style,  we  may  be  sure  they  were 
taught  at  the  dog-school  in  Amsterdam.  But  oftener,  in 
Holland,  the  small  milk-cart  or  water-cart  is  drawn  by 
a  robust  boy,  or  a  pretty  rosy-cheeked  girl  with  eyes 
brighter  than  the  shining  brass  water-jar  she  may 


CARRYING     MILK     AND     CHEESE     TO     MARKET. 

carry.  Those  canal-boats  around  the  corner,  wending 
their  way  among  the  houses,  are  loaded  with  peat  for 
the  people  to  burn ;  coal  is  a  luxury  used  only  by  the 
rich.  That  barge  by  the  market-place,  drawn  up  to 
the  street's  edge  (for  many  of  the  principal  thoroughfares 


40 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


A    WATER-BARGE. 


are  half  water  and  half  street),  is  laden  with  —  what  do 
you  think  ?  What  should  you  suppose  these  people  would, 
least  of  all,  need  to  buy  ?  You  see  these  canals,  following 
and  crossing  the  streets  in  every  direction ;  you  see  the 
mastheads  and  sails  rising  everywhere,  in  among  the 
trees  and  steeples,  showing  that  river  or  sea  always  is 
close  at  hand;  you  know  that  all  Holland  is  a  kind  of 
wet  sponge ;  and  the  guide-Looks  will  tell  you  that  every 
house  is  built  upon  long  wooden  piles  driven  deep  into  the 
marsh,  or  it  could  not  stand  there  at  all.  Now,  what  do 
you  think  these  barges  contain  ?  What  but  water !  — 
water  for  the  people  to  drink.  It  is  brought  for  the 
purpose  from  Utrecht,  or  the  river  Yecht,  or  from  some 
favored  inland  spot.  All  along  the  coast,  just  where  Hol 
land  is  wettest,  our  poor  Dutchmen  must  go  without  any 
drinking-water,  for  there  is  none  fit  to  swallow,  unless 
they  buy  from  the  barges,  or  catch  the  rain  almost  as 
soon  as  it  falls. 


NEAR     SUPPER-TIME. 


5 


~^v 


ON    THE    BEACH    AT    SCHEVENINGEN. 


CHAPTEE   V 

DUTCH    ODDITIES 

Now,  is  not  Holland  a  funny  land?  Where  else  do  the 
people  pray  for  fish  and  never  pray  for  rain  ?  Where 
else  do  they  build  enormous  factories  for  the  cutting  and 
polishing  of  such  little  things  as  diamonds  ?  Where 
else  do  peasant  women  wear  solid  gold  and  costly  old 
lace  on  their  heads?  Where  else  do  persons  carry  foot- 
stoves  about  in  their  hands  ?  Where  else  do  crowds 
of  folk  sit  on  the  sea-shore  as  at  Scheveningen,  every  one 
in  a  great  high  hut-like  wicker  chair  with  a  window  on 
each  side  ?  In  what  other  country  are  over  eighteen  hun- 

43 


44  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

dred  varieties  of  tulips  cultivated  ?  —  tulips  ranging  from 
the  palest  tints  to  the  most  brilliant  hues  and  gorgeous 
combinations  of  colors.  Where  else  do  funny  wooden 
heads  or  gapers  at  the  apothecaries'  windows  "  make 
faces "  for  all  who  have  to  take  physic  ?  Where  else  is 
fire  —  in  the  form  of  red-hot  peat  —  sold  in  summer  by 
the  pailful  ? 

Is  not  water  often  as  fertile  as  land,  in  Holland  ? 
Cannot  the  frogs  there  look  down  upon  chimney-swal 
lows?  Did  not  the  learned  Erasmus,  who  knew  how 
the  piles  were  driven  in,  say  that  their  city  people  lived 
like  crows,  on  the  tops  of  trees?  And  does  not  every 
body  know  that  "Dutch  pink"  is  as  yellow  as  gold? 

In  what  other  land  do  men  cut  down  willow-trees  to 
make  shoes  of  ?  and  where  else  are  shoes  not  only  worn 
on  the  feet  but  made  to  serve  on  occasion  as  improvised 
flower-pots,  hammers,  toy  boats,  boxes  and  baskets,  and 
Christinas  stockings  ? 

These  wooden  shoes,  or  Uompen, —  well  named  from  the 
noise  they  make  upon  hard  roads  and  cobbled  streets, — 
are  of  all  degrees,  from  the  huge  affairs  worn  by  heavy 
working-men  to  the  dainty  bits  of  clumsiness  in  which  lit 
tle  children  trudge  about.  The  well-to-do  peasant  of  Hol 
land,  on  winter  evenings,  loves  to  carve  pretty  patterns 
upon  these  small  klompen  for  the  delight  of  his  darling 
Jantje  and  Kassy.  Dainty  or  not,  the  shoes  must  be 
slipped  off  by  their  wearer  upon  entering  any  tidy  cottage. 
A  row  of  klompen  standing  outside  some  prim  doorway  is 
no  uncommon  sight ;  and  if,  in  addition,  a  pretty  juffrouw 1 

1  Pronounced  yuffrow. 


46 


THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 


'-' ! 


DRYING     SHOES     BEFORE     THE     FIRE. 


or  maiden  on  the  threshold  peers  expectantly  up  the 
street,  one  may  well  suspect  that  still  another  guest  will 
soon  arrive,  and  add  his  klompen  to  the  row. 

French  shoe-polish  is  not  for  klompen.  What  they  like 
is  plenty  of  soap  and  water  and  a  good  scraping  and  scrub 
bing,  inside  and  out,  on  Saturday,  and  a  thorough  drying 
by  the  fire  or  a  bleaching  in  the  sunshine.  All  Dutch 
folk  love  to  be  spick  and  span  for  Sunday.  So,  if  ever  you 
visit  Holland  and  see  a  klompen-bush  in  full  bloom,  you 


DUTCH  ODDITIES 


47 


will  know  that  it  is  only  the  family  shoes  hung  out  to  dry 
after  their  Saturday  "  shine,"  —  and,  of  course,  a  Dutch 
"  shine  "  must  be  snowy  white  ! 

Even  in  their  formal  courtesies,  the  Dutch  have  queer 
ways  of  their  own.  For  instance,  it  is  said  that  in  certain 
towns  when,  in  walking  along 
the  street,  they  come  upon  the 
home  of  a  friend,  or  a  house  at 
which  they  have  been  socially 
entertained,  they  bow  in  passing 
it — yes,  bow  to  the  house,  bow  to 
the  windows,  even  if  not  a  person 
can  be  seen  there.  And  a  very 
pretty  custom  it  is,  for  it  shows 
good  feeling  and  kindly  remem 
brance  of  hospitality  enjoyed. 

We  are  told,  too,  that  at  Kit- 
wyk,  during  the  morning  hours 
—  indeed,  from  the  first  break 
fast  of  early  morning  to  the 
second  breakfast  —  a  noon  serv 
ing  of  biscuit  and  koffij  (coffee)— 
ladies  and  maids  do  not  make 
any  attempt  at  fine  dressing. 
And,  strange  to  say,  if  in  this 


A     KLOMPEN-BUSH     IN     BLOOM. 


magic  space  of  time,  they  choose  to  go  out  of  doors,  either 
about  their  own  homes,  or  to  the  market-place,  or  to  the 
great  town-pump,  they  are  supposed  to  be  invisible!  In 
other  words,  one  must  not  recognize  them  nor  even  ap 
pear  to  see  them,  so  long  as  they  are  in  their  clogs,  crimps, 


48 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


nightcaps,  and  jackets,  or  wrappers, — which,  it  seems, 
constitute  the  forenoon  undress  uniform  of  many  a 
Dutch  lady  who  may  shine  resplendent  later  in  the  day. 
And  now  conies  the  greatest  oddity  of  all, —  the  Tulip 
Craze,  or  Tulipomania,  as  it  is  called,  which  raged  over 

Holland  early 
in  the  seven- 
teenthcentury. 
Have  you  not 
read  of  it  ? — 
how  the  cul 
tivating  and 
owning  of  tu 
lips  seemed  for 
a  while  to  be 
the  only  thing 
men  cared  for  ? 
The  first  speci 
men  seen  in 
Holland  came 
from  Constan 
tinople  in  1599. 
Therarebeauty 
of  the  flower- 
called  tulip  on 
account  of  its 

resemblance  to  a  turban  (tidipa) — at  once  attracted  great 
attention.  Eich  Hollanders  sent  to  Constantinople  direct 
for  the  bulbs.  They  vied  with  one  another  in  obtaining  the 
most  beautiful  varieties,  and  in  having  the  finest  tulip- 


THE     TOWN     1'UMP     AT     KITWYK. 


DUTCH  ODDITIES 


49 


beds.  At  last  this  taste,  growing  to  a  fancy,  then  to 
an  ambition,  became  a  mania.  The  same  thing  would 
now  be  called  "  tulip  on  the  brain."  Everybody  had 


"HO!     HO!     I    THOUGHT     HER     LITTLE    TULIP-BULB    WAS    AN     ONION, 
AND     I     SWALLOWED     IT !  " 


it — old,  young,  rich,  and  poor.  One  rich  man  at  Haarlem 
gave  half  of  his  fortune  for  a  single  root.  By  the  year 
1635,  persons  were  known  to  invest  100,000  florins1  for 
thirty  or  forty  roots.  A  tulip  of  the  species  Admiral  Lief- 
ken  sold  for  4400  florins.  The  Semper  Augustus  easily 
brought  2000  florins.  And  one  superb  specimen  of  the 
Semper  Augustus  actually  sold  for  13,000  florins, —  or 
5200  dollars.  At  one  time  there  were  but  two  roots  of 
this  variety  in  Holland ;  one  belonged  to  a  gentleman 
of  Haarlem,  the  other  to  a  trader  in  Amsterdam.  Both 
of  these  were  eagerly  sought  for  by  infatuated  tulip-men. 

1  A  Dutch  florin  is  equal  to  about  forty  cents  in  United  States  currency. 


THE   LAND    OF  PLUCK 

h 


The  owner  of  the  first  refused  an  offer  for  it  of  the  fee  simple 
of  twelve  acres  of  building  lots.  The  second,  that  of  Am 
sterdam,  was  finally  sold  for  4600  florins  (1840  dollars),  a 
new  carriage,  two  gray  horses,  and  a  complete  suit  of  har 
ness!  This  statement  is  well  attested,  and  is  printed  in  the 
records  of  the  day. 

One  Munsing,  who  wrote  a  large  volume  on  the  tulipo- 
mania,  gives  this  list  of  articles  which  were  delivered  for 
a  single  root  of  the  variety  called  The  Viceroy : 

"  Two  lasts  [loads]  of  wheat ;  four  lasts  of  rye ;  four  fat 
oxen;  eight  fat  swine;  twelve  fat  sheep;  two  hogsheads  of 
wine ;  four  tuns  of  beer ;  one  thousand  pounds  of  cheese ; 
a  suit  of  clothes  ;  a  silver  cup  ;  a  bed,  complete,  and  two 
tuns  of  butter, —  the  whole  valued  at  twenty-five  hundred 
florins  [or  one  thousand  dollars]."  And  all  for  one  root ! 

Still  the  mania  grew.  Men  parted  not  only  with  their 
money,  but  with  their  lands,  household  goods,  apparel, 
watches — anything,  for  the  purchase  of  tulips. 


DUTCH   ODDITIES 


51 


People  of  all  grades,  from  the  rich  burgomaster  to  the 
chimney-sweep,  speculated  in  the  flower.  Ladies  bought 
bulbs  in  the  hope  of  making  large  profits  upon  them.  The 
rise  and  fall  in  tulip  stocks  were  the  excitement  of  the 
day.  At  last,  the  government,  becoming  alarmed  for  the 
state  of  society,  checked  the  traffic,  and  so  burst  the  bubble. 
Then  things  were  worse  than  ever.  Disappointed  and  en 
raged  speculators  went  to  law ;  but  the  law  turned  its  back 
upon  them.  It  was  decided  that  debts  contracted  under 
tulip-speculation  were  not  legal.  Then  there  was  trouble ! 

But  time,  the  great  consoler  quieted  matters  before  very 


A    TULIP    FANTASY. 


lon<?  and  Holland  settled  down  to  its  tobacco  and  meer- 

O' 

schaum  again.    There  had  also  been  great  tulip  excitements 
in  England  and  Paris,  but  these,  too,  died  out  in  time. 

O 

To  this  day,  however,  the  Hollanders  are  fond  of  their 


52  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

turban-flower,  as  well  they  may  be.  A  great  tulip-bed, 
with  its  stately  rows  of  gay  flowers  in  their  setting  of  soft, 
waving  green,  is  a  beautiful  sight.  But,  to  enjoy  it  to  the 
utmost,  one  must  love  the  flowers  with  true  Dutch  fond 
ness  and  pride.  Not  only  this,  but  he  must  dwell  upon 
the  special  traits  and  charms  of  each  specimen,  as  though 
it  were  a  personal  friend. 

Verily,  as  I  said  at  first,  Holland  is  the  queerest 
country  that  ever  the  sun  shone  upon !  But  the  queerest 
thing  of  all  is,  when  you  really  know  much  about  it 
you  feel  more  like  crying  than  laughing;  for  this  land 
that  lies  so  loosely  upon  the  sea  has  many  a  time  been 
forced  to  be  as  a  rock  against  a  legion  of  foes.  Its  stanch- 
hearted  people  have  suffered  as  never  nation  suffered  be 
fore.  Dutch  country-folk  look  sleepy,  I  know,  and  have 
some  very  odd  ways ;  but  —  Motley's  history  of  the  Eise 
of  the  Dutch  Republic  is  not  a  funny  book. 

There  is  no  more  heartrending,  terrible  story  in  all  his 
tory  than  that  of  the  siege  of  Haarlem  by  the  Spaniards  in 
the  sixteenth  century.  It  cannot  be  told  here;  but  one 
of  its  opening  incidents  shows  the  Spanish  forces,  unused 
to  ice,  tramping  and  tumbling  toward  Haarlem  upon  the 
frozen,  slippery  sea.  Their  object  was  to  capture  the 
Dutch  ships  that  lay  near  the  city,  tightly  held  in  by  the 
ice.  Suddenly  they  were  overpowered.  How  ?  By  a  body 
of  armed  men  on  skates,  who,  springing  from  ice-trenches, 
flew  swiftly  upon  the  astonished  Spaniards,  shooting 
them  down  by  hundreds.  It  was  a  day  of  victory  for  the 
Dutch  patriots.  But  what  months  of  terrible  suffering,  of 
almost  superhuman  endurance,  came  to  them  afterward! 


DUTCH  ODDITIES  55 

The  ocean,  too,  could  tell  tales  of  Dutch  sea-fights  and 
Dutch  ships  bound  on  great  enterprises ;  though  it  has 
a  funny  story  of  the  brave  admiral  Van  Tromp,  which 
you  may  already  have  heard.  He  was  born  a  little  Dutch 
man,  two  hundred  and  ninety-seven  years  ago, — just  two 
summers  before  the  first  tulip  bowed  upon  Dutch  soil. 
His  father,  who  was  an  admiral,  in  due  time  took  his  lit 
tle  boy  to  sea.  One  day  in  a  naval  fight  with  the  British, 
the  father  was  killed,  and  little  Marten  Harpertzoon  Van 
Tromp  was  taken  prisoner.  He  was  made  to  work  as 
cabin-boy  for  many  a  weary  month,  but  he  did  not  des 
pair.  He  was  a  Dutch  boy. 

In  two  years  he  was  free  again.  Soon  better  fortunes 
came  to  him.  In  early  manhood  he  entered  the  Dutch 
navy,  and  finally  became  Admiral  of  Holland,  sometimes 
fighting  against  the  Spaniards,  sometimes  beaten  on  the 
high  seas,  but  oftener  victorious.  In  fact,  in  the  course  of 
his  career,  he  was  winner  of  more  than  thirty  battles. 
He  had  many  a  fierce  sea-fight  with  Admiral  Blake  of 
England,  and,  though  conquered  by  this  enemy  at  last, 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  one  victory  over  Blake  so  bril 
liant  and  thorough  that  he  celebrated  the  event  by  sail 
ing  the  British  Channel  with  a  broom  fastened  to  his 
masthead.  This  was  his  way  of  proclaiming  that  he  had 
swept  his  enemy  from  the  seas. 


CHAPTEE   VI 

THE   BATAVIANS    AND   THEIR   GOOD   MEADOW 

[ND  now  let  us  see  how  Holland,  from  its 
earliest  history,  has  proved  itself  to  be  truly 
a  Land  of  Pluck: 

In  the  old,  old  time,  when  many  who  now 
are  called  the  heroes  of  antiquity  were  cutting  their 
baby-teeth,  men  began  to  quarrel  for  the  possession  of  the 
country  which  is  now  known  as  Holland ;  and  in  one  form 
or  another,  the  contest  has  been  going  on  nearly  ever  since. 
Why  any  should  have  coveted  it,  is  a  mystery  to  me.  It 
was  then  only  a  low  tract  of  spongy  marsh,  a  network  of 
queer  rivers  that  seemed  never  to  know  where  they  be 
longed,  but  insisted  every  spring  upon  paying  unwelcome 
visits  to  the  inland — hiding  here,  running  into  each  other 
there,  and  falling  asleep  in  pleasant  places.  It  was  a  great 
land-and-water  kaleidoscope,  girt  about  with  a  rim  of 
gloomy  forest ;  or  a  sort  of  dissected  puzzle,  with  half  of 
the  pieces  in  soak ;  and  its  owners  were  a  scanty,  savage, 


58  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

fish-eating  tribe,  living  like  beavers  on  mounds  of  their 
own  raising. 

What  could  have  tempted  outsiders  to  disturb  them  ? 
What,  indeed,  unless  it  were  the  same  feeling  that  often 
makes  a  small  boy  holding  either  a  kaleidoscope,  or  a  puzzle, 
an  object  of  persecution  to  all  the  big  boys  around  him. 

"  Let  me  take  a  look  ! "  they  cry ;  "  I  want  my  turn  "  ; 
or,  "  Give  me  the  puzzle  !  Let  's  see  what  I  can  make  out 
of  it!" 

You  know  how  it  is  too  apt  to  be.  First,  their  attention 
is  arrested  by  seeing  the  small  boy  peculiarly  happy  and 
absorbed.  They  begin  to  nudge,  then  to  bully  him.  Small 
Boy  shakes  his  head  and  tries  to  enjoy  himself  in  peace 
and  quietness.  Bullying  increases — the  nudges  become 
dangerous.  In  despair  he  soon  gives  in,  or,  rather,  gives 
up,  and  the  big  boys  slide  into  easy  possession. 

But  suppose  the  small  boy  is  plucky,  and  will  not  give 
up  ?  Suppose  he  would  see  the  puzzle  crushed  to  atoms 
first  ?  Suppose  only  positive  big-boy  power  can  overcome 
his  as  positive  resistance  ?  What  then  ? 

So  began  the  history  of  Holland. 

The  first  who  held  possession  of  Dutch  soil — not  the 
first  who  ever  had  lived  upon  it,  but  the  first  who  had  per 
sistently  enjoyed  the  kaleidoscope,  and  busied  themselves 
with  the  puzzle — were  a  branch  of  the  great  German  race. 
Driven  by  circumstances  from  their  old  home,  they  had 
settled  upon  an  empty  island  in  the  river  Ehine,  which, 
you  know,  after  leaving  its  pleasant  southern  country, 
straggles  through  Holland  in  a  bewildered  search  for  the 
sea.  This  island  they  called  Betauw,  or  "  Good  Meadow," 


THE  BATAVIANS  AND   THEIR   GOOD   MEADOW  59 

and  so,  in  time,  themselves  came  to  be  called  Batavii,  or 
Batavians. 

Other  portions  of  the  country  were  held  by  various 
tribes  living  upon  and  beyond  a  great  tract  of  land  which 
afterward,  in  true  Holland  style,  was  turned  into  a  sea,1 
called  the  Zuyder  Zee.  Most  of  these  tribes  were  sturdy 
and  brave,  but  the  Batavii  were  braver  than  any.  Fierce, 
stanch  and  defiant,  they  taught  even  their  little  children 
only  the  law  of  might ;  and  their  children  grew  up  to  be 
mightier  than  they.  The  blessed  Teacher  had  not  yet 
brought  the  world  his  lesson  of  mercy  and  love.  "  Con 
quer  one  another  "  had  stronger  claims  to  their  considera 
tion  than  "  Love  one  another." 

Their  votes  in  council  were  given  by  the  clashing  of 
arms ;  and  often  their  wives  and  mothers  stood  by  with 
shouts  and  cries  of  encouragement  wherever  the  fight  was 
thickest.  "  Others  go  to  battle,"  said  the  historian  Taci 
tus  ;  "  these  go  to  war." 

Soon  the  all-conquering  Eornans,  who,  with  Julius 
Caesar  at  their  head,  had  trampled  surrounding  nations 
into  subjection,  discovered  that  the  sturdy  Batavii  were 
not  to  be  vanquished — that  their  friendship  was  worth 
far  more  than  the  spongy  country  they  inhabited.  An  al 
liance  was  formed,  and  the  Batavii  were  declared  to  be  ex 
empt  from  the  annual  tax  or  tribute  which  all  others  were 
forced  to  pay  to  the  Romans.  Ctesar  himself  was  not 
ashamed  to  extol  their  skill  in  arms,  nor  to  send  their 

!The  Zuyder  Zee  was  formed  by  successive  inundations  during  the  thir 
teenth  century.  In  the  last  of  these  inundations  —  in  1287  —  nearly 
eighty  thousand  persons  were  drowned. 


60  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

already  famous  warriors  to  fight  his  battles  and  strike 
terror  to  the  hearts  of  his  foes. 

The  Batavian  cavalry  could  swim  across  wide  and  deep 
rivers  without  breaking  their  ranks,  and  their  infantry 
were  excelled  by  none  in  drill,  in  archery,  and  in  wonderful 
powers  cf  endurance.  They  had  fought  too  long  with  the 
elements  in  holding  their  "Good  Meadow"  to  be  dismayed 
in  battle  by  any  amount  of  danger  and  fatigue. 

The  Romans  called  them  "  friends,"  but  the  Batavians 
soon  discovered  that  they  were  being  used  merely  as  a 
cat's-paw.  After  a  while,  as  cat's-pawrs  will,  they  turned 
and  scratched.  A  contest,  stubborn  and  tedious,  between 
the  Romans  and  Batavians  followed.  At  length  both  par 
ties  were  glad  to  make  terms  of  peace,  which  prevailed, 
with  few  interruptions,  until  the  decline  of  the  Roman 
Empire. 

After  that,  hordes  of  barbarians  overran  Europe ;  and 
Holland,  with  the  rest,  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  Man  to 
man,  the  Batavian  could  hold  his  own  against  any  mortal 
foe,  but  he  could  not  always  be  proof  against  numbers. 
The  "  Good  Meadow,"  grown  larger  arid  more  valuable, 
was  conquered  and  held  by  several  of  the  "  big-boy  "  sav 
age  tribes,  in  turn,  but  not  until  Batavian  pluck  stood 
recorded  in  many  a  fearful  tale  passed  from  generation 
to  generation. 

Later,  each  of  the  surrounding  nations,  as  it  grew  more 
powerful,  tried  to  wrest  Holland  from  the  holders  of  her 
soil.  Some  succeeded  for  a  time,  some  failed ;  but  always, 
and  every  time,  the  Dutch  gathered  their  strength  for 
the  contest  and  went  not  to  battle,  but  to  war.  As,  in  later 


THE  BAT  AVIANS  AND   THEIR   GOOD  MEADOW  63 

history,  the  Russians  burned  Moscow  to  prevent  it  from 
falling  into  the  hands  of  Napoleon,  so  this  stanch  people 
always  stood  ready,  at  the  worst,  to  drown  Holland  rather 
than  yield  her  to  the  foe.  Often  they  let  in  the  waters 
they  had  laboriously  shut  out,  laying  waste  hundreds  of 
fertile  acres,  that  an  avenging  sea  might  suddenly  con 
found  the  invaders.  Often  they  faced  famine  and  pesti 
lence, —  men,  women,  and  little  wonder-stricken  children 
perishing  in  the  streets  of  their  beleaguered  cities — all 
who  had  breath  to  say  it,  still  fiercely  refusing  to  surrender. 
Wherever  the  strong  arm  of  the  enemy  succeeded  in  mow 
ing  these  people  down,  a  stronger,  sturdier  growth  was  sure 
to  spring  from  the  stubble.  Sometimes  defeated,  never 
subdued,  they  were  patient  under  subjection  only  until 
they  were  again  ready  to  rise  as  one  man  and  throw  off  the 
yoke.  Now  and  then,  it  is  true,  under  promise  of  peace 
and  increased  prosperity,  they  formed  a  friendly  union 
with  a  one-time  enemy.  But  woe  to  the  other  side  if  it 
carried  aggression  and  a  trust  in  might  too  far.  Treach 
ery,  oppression,  breach  of  faith  were  sure,  sooner  or  later, 
to  arouse  Dutch  pluck ;  and  Dutch  pluck,  in  the  end,  has 
always  beaten. 


CHAPTEE  VII 

THE  DUTCH  HAVE  TAKEN  HOLLAND 

AND  so,  though  Eomaii,  Saxon, 
Austrian,  Spaniard,  Belgian,  Eng 
lishman,  and  Frenchman  in  turn 
llourished  a  scepter  over  them,  it 
conies,  after  all,  to  be  true,  that  only 
"the  Dutch  have  taken  Holland." 
It  is  theirs  by  every  right  of  in 
heritance  and  strife — theirs  to  hold, 
to  drain,  and  to  pump,  for  ever  and 
ever.  They  wrested  it  from  the  sea, 
not  in  a  day,  but  through  long  years 
of  patient  toil,  through  dreary  years 
of  suffering  and  sorrow.  They  have  counted  their  dead,  in 
their  war  with  the  ocean  alone,  by  hundreds  of  thousands. 
Industry,  hardihood,  and  thrift  have  been  better  allies  to 
them  than  were  Cnesar's  Roman  legions  to  the  old  Batavian 
forefathers. 

For  ages,  it  seems,  Holland  could  not  have  known  a 
leisure  moment.  Frugal,  hardy,  painstaking,  and  perse 
vering,  her  spirit  was  ever  equal  to  great  enterprises. 
With  her  every  difficulty  was  a  challenge.  Obstacles 

64 


THE  DUTCH  HAVE   TAKEN  HOLLAND  65 

that  would  have  discouraged  others,  inspired  the  Dutch 
with  increased  energy.  Their  land  was  only  a  marsh 
threatened  by  the  sea.  What  of  that  ?  So  much  the 
more  need  of  labor  and  skill  to  make  it  a  hailing-place 
among  nations.  It  was  barren  and  bleak.  "  Why,  then," 
said  they,  "so  much  the  more  need  for  us  to  become 
masters  in  tilling  the  soil."  It  was  a  very  little  place, 
scarcely  worth  a  name  on  the  maps.  "  So  much  the  more 
need,"  said  plucky  Holland,  "  that  we  extend  our  posses 
sions,  gain  lands  in  every  corner  of  the  earth,  and  send 
our  ships  far  and  near,  until  every  nation  shall  uncon 
sciously  pay  us  tribute." 

"  Such  is  the  industry  of  the  people  and  the  trade 
they  drive,"  said  a  writer  of  the  sixteenth  century,  "  that, 
having  little  or  no  corn  of  their  own  growth,  they  do 
provide  themselves  elsewhere,  not  only  sufficient  for  their 
own  spending,  but  wherewith  to  supply  their  neighbors. 
Having  no  timber  of  their  own,  they  spend  more  timber 
in  building  ships  and  fencing  their  water-courses  than 
any  country  in  the  world.  .  .  .  And  finally,  having 
neither  flax  nor  wool,  they  make  more  cloth  of  both  sorts 
than  is  made  in  all  the  countries  of  the  world,  except 
France  and  England." 

Of  some  things  they  soon  began  to  have  a  surplus. 
There  were  not  half  nor  a  quarter  enough  persons  in  frugal 
Holland  to  drink  all  the  milk  of  their  herds.  Forthwith 
Dutch  butter  and  cheese  came  to  be  sent  all  over  Chris 
tendom.  The  herring-fisheries  were  enormous.  More  fish 
came  to  their  nets  than  would  satisfy  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  in  Holland.  England  had  enough  herring  of 


THE  DUTCH  HAVE  TAKEN  HOLLAND  67 

her  own.  Ships  were  far  too  slow  in  those  steamless 
days  to  make  fresh  fish  a  desirable  article  of  export.  Here 
was  trouble !  Not  so.  Up  rose  a  Dutchman  named  William 
Beukles,  to  invent  the  curing  and  pickling  of  herring. 
The  fish  trade  made  Holland  richer,  more  prosperous  than 
ever.  In  time,  a  monument  was  raised  to  the  memory 
of  Beukles,  for  was  he  not  a  national  benefactor  ? 

The  Dutch  delight  in  honoring  their  heroes,  their  states 
men,  and  inventors.  You  cannot  be  long  among  them 
without  hearing  of  one  Laureiis  Janzoon  Koster,  to  whom, 
they  insist,  the  world  owes  the  art  of  printing  with  mov 
able  types  —  the  most  important  of  human  inventions. 
Their  cities  are  rich  in  memorials  and  monuments  of 
those  whose  wisdom  and  skill  have  proved  a  boon  to 
mankind.  All  along  the  paths  of  human  progress  we 
can  find  Dutch  footprints.  In  education,  science,  and 
political  economy,  they  have,  many  a  time,  led  the  way. 

The  boys  and  girls  of  Holland  are  citizens  in  a  high 
sense  of  the  word.  They  soon  learn  to  love  their  country, 
and  to  recognize  the  fatherly  care  of  its  government.  The 
sense  of  common  danger,  and  the  necessity  of  all  acting 
together  in  common  defense,  has  served  to  knit  the  affec 
tions  of  the  people.  In  truth  it  may  be  said,  for  history 
has  proved  it,  that  in  every  Dutch  arm  you  can  feel  the 
pulse  of  Holland.  Throughout  her  early  struggles,  in  the 
palmy,  glorious  days  of  the  republic,  as  well  as  now  in 
her  cautious  constitutional  monarchy,  the  Dutch  have 
been  patriots  —  mistaken  and  short-sighted  at  times,  even 
goaded  to  cruel  deeds  by  the  brutal  wickedness  of  their 
enemies,  but  always  true  to  their  beloved  "  Good  Meadow." 


68  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Hollow-land,  Low-land,  or  Netherland,  whatever  men  may 
call  it,  their  country  stands  high  in  their  hearts.  They 
love  it  with  more  than  the  love  of  a  mountaineer  for  his 
native  hills. 

To  be  sure  there  have  been  riots  and  outbreaks  there,  as 
in  all  other  thickly  settled  parts  of  the  world — perhaps 
more  than  elsewhere,  for  Dutch  indignation,  though  slow 
in  kindling,  makes  a  prodigious  blaze  when  once  fairly 
afire.  Some  of  these  disturbances  have  arisen  only  after 
a  long  endurance  of  serious  wrongs ;  and  some  seem  to 
have  been  started  at  once  by  that  queer  friction-match  in 
human  nature,  which,  if  left  unguarded,  is  sure  to  be 
nibbled  at,  and  so  ignited,  by  the  first  little  mouse  of 
discontent  that  finds  it. 

There  was  a  curious  origin  to  one  of  these  domestic 
quarrels.  On  a  certain  occasion  a  banquet  was  given, 
at  which  were  present  two  noted  Dutch  noblemen,  rivals 
in  power,  who  had  several  old  grudges  to  settle.  The 
conversation  turning  on  the  codfishery,  one  of  the  two 
remarked  upon  the  manner  in  which  the  hook  (Jwek) 
took  the  codfish,  or  kabbeljaauw,  as  the  Dutch  call  it. 

"  The  hook  take  the  codfish ! "  exclaimed  the  other  in  no 
very  civil  tone ;  "  it  would  be  better  sense  to  say  that  the 
codfish  takes  the  hook." 

The  grim  jest  was  taken  up  in  bitter  earnest.  High 
words  passed,  and  the  chieftains  rose  from  the  table  en 
emies  for  life. 

They  proceeded  to  organize  war  against  each  other; 
a  bitter  war  it  proved  to  Holland,  for  it  lasted  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  was  fought  out  with  all 


THE  DUTCH  HAVE   TAKEN  HOLLAND  71 

the  stubbornness  of  family  feuds.  The  opposing  parties 
took  the  names  of  "  hoeks  "  and  "  kabbeljaauws,"  and  men 
of  all  classes  enlisted  in  their  respective  ranks.  In  many 
instances  fathers,  brothers,  sons,  and  old-time  friends  forgot 

*D 

their  ties,  and  knew  each  other  only  as  foes.  The  feud 
(being  Dutch  !)  raged  hotter  and  stronger  in  proportion 
as  men  had  time  coolly  to  consider  the  question.  A 
thicket  of  mutual  wrongs,  real  or  imaginary,  sprang  up 
to  further  entangle  the  opposing  parties;  families  were 
divided,  miles  of  smiling  country  laid  in  ruin,  and  tens 
of  thousands  of  men  slain  —  for  what  ? 

Those  who  fought,  and  those  who  looked  on,  longing  for 
peace,  are  alike  silent  now.  Historical  records  do  not 
quite  clear  up  the  mystery.  We  know  how  hard  it  must 
have  been  to  settle  the  knotty  question  whether  hooks  or 
codfish  can  more  properly  be  said  to  be  "  taken,"  and  how 
dangerous  the  smallest  thorns  of  anger  and  jealousy  be 
come  if  not  plucked  out  promptly.  It  is  certain,  too,  that 
the  hoeks  and  kabbeljaauws  were  terribly  in  earnest, 
though  what  they  killed  each  other  for  we  "  cannot  well 
make  out." 

The  kabbeljaauws  had  one  advantage.  When  a  public 
dinner  was  given  by  their  party,  the  first  dish  brought  in 
by  the  seneschal  (or  steward)  was  a  huge  plate  of  codfish 
elaborately  decorated  with  flowers;  something  not  orna 
mental  only,  but  substantial  and  satisfactory  ;  while  the 
corresponding  dish  at  a  hoek  festival  contained  nothing 
but  a  gigantic  hook  encircled  by  a  flowery  wreath. 

All  through  Dutch  history  you  will  find  quaint  words 
and  phrases  that  have  a  terrible  record  folded  within  their 


72  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

quaintness.  The  Casenbrotspel,  or  Bread  and  Cheese  war, 
was  not  funny  when  it  came  to  blight  the  last  ten  years  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  though  its  name  sounds  trivial  now. 
And  the  Gueux,  or  "  Beggars,"  who,  nearly  a  century  later, 
come  forth  on  the  bloodstained  page,  were  something 
more  than  beggars,  as  King  Philip  and  the  wicked  Duke 
of  Alva  found  to  their  cost. 

Ah,  those  Gueux !  "Watch  for  them  when  you  read 
Dutch  history.  They  will  soon  appear,  with  their  wallets 
and  wooden  bowls,  their  doublets  of  ashen  gray, —  brave, 
reckless,  desperate  men,  whose  deeds  struck  terror  over 
land  and  sea.  When  once  they  come  in  sight,  turn  as  you 
may,  you  will  meet  them  ;  you  will  hear  their  wild  cry, 
"  Long  live  the  Beggars ! "  ringing  amid  the  blaze  and 
carnage  of  many  a  terrible  day.  There  are  princes  and 
nobles  among  them.  They  will  grow  bolder  and  fiercer, 
more  reckless  and  desperate,  until  their  country's  perse 
cutor,  Philip  of  Spain,  has  withdrawn  the  last  man  of  all 
his  butchering  hosts  from  their  soil ;  until  the  Duke  of 
Alva,  one  of  the  blackest  characters  in  all  history,  has 
cowered  before  the  wrath  of  Holland  ! 

Ah !  my  light-hearted  boys  and  girls,  if  there  were  not 
lessons  to  be  learned  from  these  things,  it  would  be  well 
to  blot  them  from  human  memory.  But  would  it  be  well 
to  forget  the  heroism,  the  majestic  patience,  the  trust  in 
God,  that  shine  forth  resplendent  from  these  darkest  pages 
of  Dutch  history  ?  Can  we  afford  to  lose  such  examples 
of  human  grandeur  under  suffering  as  come  to  us  from  the 
beleaguered  cities  of  Naarden,  Haarlem,  and  Leyden  ? 
When  you  learn  their  stories,  if  you  do  not  know  them 


THE  DUTCH  HAVE   TAKEN  HOLLAND  75 

already,  you  will  understand  Dutch  pluck  in  all  its  full 
ness,  and  be  glad  that,  in  the  end,  it  proved  victorious 
over  every  foe. 

But,  as  you  have  been  told  before,  it  is  not  only  amid 
the  din  of  war  that  Holland  has  shown  her  pluck ;  nor  is 
hers  the  bragging,  boisterous  quality  that  offends  at  every 
turn.  A  simpler,  firmer,  more  peacefully  inclined  people 
it  would  be  hard  to  find ;  but  somehow  they  have  an  odd 
way  of  being  actively  concerned  in  the  history  of  other 
nations.  Possibly  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that  their  pecu 
liar  simplicity  and  love  of  quiet  have  proved  a  sort  of 
standing  invitation  to  those  who  would  make  war  with 
them;  possibly  it  is  because  of  their  great  commercial 
enterprise,  and  their  tempting  stores ;  but,  to  my  mind, 
their  remarkably  far-seeing,  though  seemingly  sleepy,  way 
of  looking  at  things,  has  had  much  to  do  with  their 
progress.  They  seem  never  to  threaten,  yet  always  to 
perform  ;  never  to  prepare,  but  always  to  be  ready. 


CHAPTEE   VIII 

THE  DUTCH  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD 


HE  story  of  Dutch  patriotism  could  be  written 
out  in  symbols,  or  pictures,  more  eloquently 
than  that  of  any  other  nation.    There  would 
Iv^?^.    ^6  shields,  arrows  and  spears,  and  battleships 

v^       ^^ 

V  and  fortresses,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
war,  ancient  and  modern.  But  beside  these,  and  having 
a  sterner  significance,  would  be  the  tools  and  implements 
of  artisans  ;  the  windmills,  the  dikes,  the  canals  ;  the  sluice 
gates,  the  locks  ;  the  piles  that  hold  up  their  cities.  How 
much  could  be  told  by  the  great,  white-sailed  merchantmen 
bound  for  every  sea ;  by  the  mammoth  docks,  and  by  the 
wonderful  cargoes  coming  and  going !  How  the  great 
buildings  would  loom  up,  each  telling  its  story —  the  fac 
tories,  warehouses,  schools,  colleges,  museums,  legislative 

halls,  the  hospitals,  asylums,  and  churches ! 

76 


THE  DUTCH  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD  77 

There  would  be  more  than  these :  there  would  be  libra 
ries,  art-galleries,  and  holy  places  battered  and  broken. 
There  would  be  monuments  and  relics,  and  church  organs 
— chief  among  them  that  of  the  Haarlem  Cathedral,  to 


THE    HAARLEM     CATHEDRAL. 


this  day  ranking  among  the  grandest  in  the  world.  There 
would  be  boats  manned  by  rough  heroes  trying  to  save 
thousands  of  drowning  fellow-creatures  whose  homes  had 
been  swept  away  by  the  waves.  We  should  see  some  of 
the  most  beautiful  public  parks  of  their  time ;  gardens,  too, 


78  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

wonderful  in  their  blooming  ;  and,  over  all,  trie  bells  —  the 
faithful  carillons  that  for  ages  have  sent  down  messages, 
more  or  less  musical,  upon  the  people. 

DUTCH  pluck  has  accomplished,  and  will  yet  accomplish, 
wonders.  Even  now,  while  the  waves  of  the  great  Zuyder 
Zee  are  beating  against  its  dikes,  Holland  is  deciding 
whether  a  vast  portion  of  this  sea  shall  be  changed  back 
to  what  it  was  in  the  thirteenth  century  —  dry  land ! 
A  tremendous  piece  of  work,  indeed ;  but  it  will  be  done  if 
the  Dutchmen  say  so.  Here  is  the  small  bit  of  very  big 
news  as  it  came  to  the  "  London  Times  "  from  the  capital 
of  Holland,  in  this  year  of  grace,  1894: 

"  The  Hague,  May  5. — The  Royal  Commission,  presided 
over  by  M.  Lely,  Minister  of  the  Waterstaat,  which  has 
long  been  studying  the  scheme  for  the  draining  and  reclaim 
ing  of  the  Zuyder  Zee,  has  concluded  its  labors.  Twenty- 
one  members  out  of  the  twenty-six  composing  the  Com 
mission  recommend  that  the  projected  work  be  carried  out 
by  the  State. 

"  It  is  proposed  to  reclaim  from  the  sea  about  450,000 
acres,  the  value  of  which  is  estimated  at  326,000,000  guil 
ders.1  The  cost  of  this  important  work  is  computed  at 
189,000,000  guilders,  or  with  the  accumulated  expenditure, 
including  measures  of  defense  and  the  payment  of  com 
pensation  to  the  fishermen  of  the  Zee,  at  315,000,000  guil 
ders.  The  draining  is  to  be  carried  out  by  means  of  a  sea 
dike  from  northern  Holland  into  Friesland." 

1  $130,400,000,  as  the  guilder  —  like  the  silver  florin  —  is  equal  to 
forty  cents  of  United  States  money. 


THE  DUTCH  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD  79 

Dutch  pluck  has  sailed  all  over  the  world.  It  has  put 
its  stamp  on  commerce,  science,  and  manufactures.  It  has 
set  its  seal  on  every  quarter  of  the  earth.  Dutchmen  were 
at  home  in  Japan  before  either  the  Americans  or  English 
had  dared  to  intrude  upon  those  inhospitable  shores. 
There  were  great  obstacles  to  encounter  in  any  attempt  at 
trading  or  becoming  acquainted  with  that  strange  hermit 
of  an  empire  in  the  east.  She  had  enough  of  her  own,  she 
said,  and  asked  no  favors  of  the  outside  barbarians. 
Would  they  be  kind  enough  to  stay  away  ?  Most  of  the 
world  gave  an  unwilling  assent ;  but  Holland  undertook  to 
show  Japan  the  folly  of  rejecting  the  benefits  of  commerce  ; 
and  in  time,  and  after  many  a  hard  struggle,  succeeded  in 
establishing  a  Japanese  trade. 

Talking  of  ships,  whence  did  the  ship  sail  that  brought 
the  good  Fathers  of  New  England  safely  across  the  sea  ? 
And,  for  months  before,  what  country  had  sheltered  them 
from  the  persecution  that  threatened  them  in  their  native 
land  ?  Ask  the  books  these  questions,  if  need  be,  and  ask 
yourselves  whether  to  shelter  the  oppressed,  to  offer  an 
asylum  to  innocent  but  hunted  fugitives  from  every  clime, 
is  not  a  noble  work  for  pluck  to  do. 

Whence,  too,  did  some  of  our  New  York  oddities  come  ? 
Why  are  you,  little  New  Yorkers,  so  fond  of  waffles,  crul 
lers,  doughnuts,  and  New  Year's  cake  ?  Dutch  inventions 
every  one  of  them.  Why  do  you  expectantly  honor  the 
good  St.  Nicholas,  the  patron  saint  of  New  York  ?  Why 
is  this  city  turned  topsyturvy  in  a  general  "  moving " 
whenever  the  first  of  May  comes  round  ?  Why,  until  very 
recently,  did  your  fathers  and  uncles  on  the  first  day  of 


80  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

January,  from  morning  till  night,  pay  visits  from  house  to 
house,  wishing  the  ladies  a  "  Happy  New  Year  "  ?  Simply 
because  these  were  Holland  customs.  The  Americans  of 
the  day  only  were  following  the  example  long  ago  set  them 
by  the  Dutch. 

Hendrik  Hudson,  the  first  white  man  who  explored 
our  noble  North  Eiver,  was  an  adopted  Dutchman.  He 
modestly  called  it  De  Groote  (or  the  Great)  Eiver,  little 
thinking  that  for  all  time  after  it  would  be  known  as  the 
Hudson.  Staten  (or  States)  Island  was  so  named  by  him 
in  honor  of  his  home  government,  the  States-General. 

At  that  time  he  was  in  the  service  of  the  Dutch  East 
India  Company.  Three  years  later  he  made  another  voy 
age  and  discovered  the  famous  bay,  far  to  our  northward, 
which  now  bears  his  name.  Intrepid  as  he  was,  the  bitter 
cold  of  that  region,  and  threatened  starvation,  prevented 
him  from  carrying  out  his  resolve  to  spend  the  winter  on 
the  shores  of  his  bay,  and  he  set  sail  for  home,  only  to 
meet  the  tragic  fate  which  to  this  day  is  veiled  in  mystery. 
The  sailors  mutinied,  and  set  him  afloat,  with  eight  other 
men,  in  an  open  boat.  They  were  never  seen  nor  heard  of 
again. 

It  is  said  that  Hudson  gave  the  name  Helle  Gat,  or 
Beautiful  Pass,  to  the  dangerous  waterway  between  Long 
Island  and  Manhattan  Island  which  in  1885,  only  nine 
years  ago,  yielded  its  most  dangerous  reef,  Flood  Eock, 
to  the  persuasions  of  science  and  dynamite. 

The  site  of  the  present  capital  of  the  State  of  New 
York  at  first  was  called  New  Orange,  in  honor  of  William, 
Prince  of  Orange  and  Stadtholder  of  Holland;  but  in  1664, 


THE  DUTCH  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD  83 

when  the  English  were  in  power,  they  changed  the  name 
to  Albany,  after  the  Duke  of  York  and  Albany,  better 
known  to  you,  perhaps,  by  his  later  title,  King  James 
II.  of  England. 

Look  at  the  names  of  many  down-town  streets  of  New 
York  city,  once  called  New  Amsterdam, —  Cortlandt,  Van- 
darn,  Eoosevelt,  Stuyvesant,  and  scores  of  others  all  named 
after  good  Dutchmen.  Not  only  New  York,  but  Brooklyn, 
Albany,  and  other  cities  have  streets  that  lead  one  directly 
into  the  Netherlands,  so  to  speak.  Indeed,  Dutch  names 
lie  sprinkled  very  thickly  within  a  hundred  miles  of  Fifth 
Avenue  in  every  direction.  You  readily  may  suspect  the 
origin  of  Harlem,  named  when  it  was  a  little  hamlet  quite 
far  from  New  Amsterdam,  but  connected  with  it  by  a 
country  road  known  as  the  Bouerie.  This  Bouerie,  or 
Bowerie,  now  spelled  Bowery,  no  longer  has  the  rural, 
bower-like  aspect  it  enjoyed  in  those  old  days ;  for  then 
it  was  a  road  through  the  farm  or  louerie  of  Peter  Stuy 
vesant,  the  last  Dutch  colonial  governor  of  these  New 
Netherlands. 

Few  New-Yorkers  nowadays  stop  to  ask  why  Eleventh 
street,  which  extends  across  the  city  from  the  East  to  the 
North  River,  should  break  off  at  Fourth  Avenue  and  begin 
again  on  the  west  side  of  Broadway.  But  they  know  that 
a  long  solid  block — its  southwestern  corner  beautified  by 
Grace  Church  and  its  parsonage  —  reaches  from  Tenth 
street  to  Twelfth  street.  The  fact  is,  Eleventh  street  was 
stopped  just  there  by  a  Dutchman,  or  an  honored  citizen 
of  Dutch  descent,  named  Brevoort.  Mrs.  Lamb,  in  her 
"  History  of  New  York,"  tells  us  that  the  mansion  of  Henry 


84  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Brevoort  fronted  the  Bowery  road,  and,  according  to  the 
plans  of  the  street  commissioners,  Eleventh  street  would 
cut  across  the  site  occupied  by  his  house.  He  resisted 
the  opening  of  the  street  with  such  determination  and 
effect  "  that  the  block  remained  undisturbed.  To  this  day, 
Eleventh  street  has  no  passageway  between  Broadway 
and  Fourth  Avenue." 

And  in  Grace  Church,  near  the  south  entrance,  may 
be  seen  a  memorial  tablet  of  white  marble,  the  leading 
inscription  of  which  reads  : 


IN   MEMORY    OF 

HENEY  BEEVOOET 

WHO   DIED   AUG.  21.  1841    IN   THE   94.  YEAR   OF   HIS   AGE 

IN   POSSESSION   OF   THE    GROUND    ON   WHICH   THIS 

CHURCH  NOW  STANDS  ;  DERIVED  IN  UNBROKEN  DESCENT 

FROM   THE   FIRST   COLONISTS   OF   NEW   NETHERLANDS. 


CHAPTEE   IX 

HOLLAND    TO-DAY 

» OLLAND  is  stanch,  true,  and  plucky, 
but  it  is  Holland ;  and,  lest  you  for 
get  that  it  still  is  the  oddest  country 
in  Christendom,  I  must  tell  you  that 
within  a  few  years  a  new  king  has 
succeeded  to  its  throne — and  this 
new  king  is  a  bright  little  girl  not 
yet  fifteen  years  of  age !  Yes,  the  High  Council  of  Hol 
land  solemnly  decreed  that  officials  and  other  public  ser 
vants  should  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  not  to  Queen  but 
to  King  Wilhelmina !  The  Dutch  newspapers  protested 
vehemently  against  this  form,  as  being  contrary  to  common 
sense.  But  the  High  Court  of  Holland  does  not  yield  to 
dictation,  and  the  press,  it  seems,  at  last  adopted  a  dignified 
silence  in  the  matter.  Possibly  the  expression  "King  Wil 
helmina  "  may  recall  to  some  readers  that  historic  incident 
of  1740,  when  the  heroic  young  Empress  of  Austria,  beset 
with  foes,  heard  her  impassioned  Hungarian  nobles  shout 
ing,  as  their  swords  leaped  from  their  scabbards:  "Let  us 
die  for  our  King,  Maria  Theresa  ! " 

6*  85 


86  THE  LAND   OF  PLUGK 

But,  king  or  queen,  this  royal  little  Wilhelmina  of  Hol 
land  already  rules  in  the  hearts  of  her  people.  Well  may 
the  boys  and  girls  of  our  republic  follow  her  career 
with  interest; — so  bright,  winning,  and  unaffected  is  she 
in  her  pretty  dignity  and  her  earnest  patriotic  spirit. 
Despite  her  high  station,  she  is  a  real  child,  ready  for 
play  and,  as  a  recent  writer  tells  us,  "  devotedly  fond  of 
dolls." 

On  one  occasion,  it  is  said,  her  youthful  majesty  was 
heard  addressing  a  refractory  doll  as  follows :  "  Now  be 
good  and  quiet,  because  if  you  don't  I  will  turn  you  into 
a  queen,  and  then  you  will  not  have  any  one  to  play 
with  at  all." 

Poor  little  doll-mother !  In  the  confidence  of  that 
family  circle  she  may  say  things  that  she  hardly  could 
utter  at  court  receptions  !  To  some  of  her  dolls,  however, 
she  undoubtedly  shows  a  dignified  reserve  ;  for  instance, 
to  the  fifty  lately  given  to  her  on  her  fourteenth  birthday 
by  her  mother,  the  queen  regent.  They  are  stiff'  and  im 
posing,  we  may  be  sure,  for  they  are  dressed  to  represent 
soldiers  of  rank,  in  order  that  the  little  queen  may  be 
come  familiar  with,  and  easily  recognize,  the  different 
uniforms  of  the  officers  in  her  Dutch  army. 


IN  concluding  these  simple  chapters  about  the  Land 
of  Pluck,  I  yield  to  an  impulse  to  quote — for  the  benefit 
of  readers  who  would  like  a  further  familiar  word  about 
the  Holland  of  to-day — some  extracts  from  two  personal 
letters  recently  received.  The  first  is  from  an  American 


QUEEN     WILHELMINA    OF     HOLLAND,    AT     THE    AGE     OF     ELEVEN. 

(FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH   BY  KAMEKE,  THE  HAGUE,  NETHERLANDS.) 


HOLLAND   TO-DAY  89 

friend  traveling  through  the  Netherlands.     The  other  was 
written  by  a  young  girl  born  and  bred  in  Holland. 

"THE  HAGUE,  March  28,  189-. 

"  .  .  .  Heaven  bless  the  Dutchmen !  They  are  the 
most  delightful  and  sterling  folk  that  we  have  found 
in  all  Europe  !  And  no  more  charming  days  have  we 
had  anywhere  than  at  Amsterdam,  at  Haarlem,  and  at  The 
Hague  and  Scheveningen.  ...  At  Amsterdam  we  saw  the 
Great  Dike  and  the  lesser  dikes  (worthy  monuments  to 
the  sturdy  force  of  this  brave  race),  and  at  Zaandam,  near 
by,  we  went  through  a  perfect  forest  of  windmills,  of  which 
there  are  nearly  four  hundred  within  the  town  limits.  A 
more  picturesque  sight  cannot  be  imagined.  As  the  little 
steamboat  got  into  the  thick  of  them,  with  those  huge 
arms  whirling  close  by  on  every  side,  the  whole  land 
scape  began  to  take  on  the  motion,  and  I  half  expected 
the  boat  would  turn  a  somersault  any  moment.  But 
it  was  a  fascinating  spectacle. 

"...  And  the  little  cottages  alongside  the  stream — 
how  quaint  and  cozy !  And  every  street  in  Amsterdam, 
and  every  woman  and  child  —  how  clean  and  fair  and 
tidy  they  look  !  And  the  delightful  head-gear  that  the 
country  women  wear !  And  the  happy,  healthy  smiles  of 
the  boys  and  girls  !  The  virtues  of  these  honest  Dutch  folk 
shine  out  to  eyes  that  have  just  seen  the  Italian  paupers. 
Small  as  it  is,  Holland  can  take  care  of  itself.  For  a 
thousand  years  the  Dutch  have  fought  the  sea,  and  for 
eighty  years  they  fought  the  greatest  military  power  of 
Europe,  and  always  held  their  own. 


90  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

11  In  all  our  travels  we  have  found  no  race  so  sturdy 
and  independent  as  this,  so  healthy  and  seemingly  so 
happy.  Not  a  beggar  have  we  seen  in  Holland,  but  we 
have  seen  the  origin  of  many  of  the  best  characteristics 
of  New  York  life.  I  never  realized  till  now  how  much 
our  big  city  owes  to  the  Dutchmen.  .  .  .  And  these  people 
are  not  only  the  tidiest  folk  in  the  world,  and  among  the 
bravest,  cheeriest,  and  most  upright,  but  they  also  have 
an  inborn,  genuine  love  of  art.  It  is  a  significant  fact  that 
the  only  place  in  Europe  in  which  we  have  seen  the  peo 
ple  of  the  country  actually  enjoying  their  great  pictures, 
was  in  the  Eyks  Museum  at  Amsterdam.  The  great 
building  was  crowded  with  Dutch  folk  of  all  classes,  and 
of  a  hundred  different  types — all  really  interested  in  the 
pictures.  It  was  a  study  to  watch  them. 

"  And  the  pictures  themselves  !  The  Dutchmen  of  to 
day  may  well  appreciate  them.  You  remember  Rem 
brandt's  famous  '  Night  Watch '  and  his  portrait  of  an  old 
woman,  at  Amsterdam,  and  his  celebrated  'Anatomist,' 
here  at  The  Hague.  I  have  seen  now  many  of  the  most 
famous  paintings  in  the  world,  but  for  perfection  of  tech 
nical  skill  these  of  Rembrandt's  surely  are  equal  to  the 
best.  True,  he  did  not  paint  ideal  subjects,  nor  enter 
the  spiritual  realm  —  in  which  the  Italian  masters  were 
so  great.  But  as  a  portrait-painter  he  seems  to  me  the 
greatest  of  all  the  masters. 

"...  But  I  must  restrain  my  enthusiasm,  and  tell  you 
briefly  that  we  have  '  done '  also  the  Amsterdam  '  Zoo '  (one 
of  the  finest  zoological  gardens  in  the  world),  have  heard 
the  great  organ  of  Haarlem,  have  seen  two  rich  private  gal- 


HOLLAND   TO-DAY  91 

leries,  have  heard  the  '  Mikado '  sung  in  Dutch  (fairly  well 
sung,  too,  but  with  some  nightmare  words  fitted  to  the 
music),  have  seen  '  Peter  the  Great's  hut '  at  Zaandam, — 
and  to-day  an  auction  of  fish  on  the  beach  at  Schevenin- 
gen,  with  the  fishermen  and  white-capped  fisherwomen 
thronging  about  in  their  odd  costumes  and  big  wooden 
shoes.  .  .  .  To-morrow  we  return  to  Amsterdam." 

Holland  speaks  for  itself,  and  every  traveler  is  its  inter 
preter.  But  here  is  an  inside,  home  letter  straight  from 
the  land  of  dikes.  Its  writer,  a  bright  and  patriotic  Dutch 
girl,  is  in  herself  the  best  evidence  one  can  have  of  the 
advantages  of  education  her  country  offers  to  all. 

It  cannot  but  be  encouraging  to  young  Americans  try 
ing  to  master  a  foreign  language  to  note  how  admirably 
this  young  Hollander  expresses  herself  in  English.  Not 
a  word  of  her  clearly  written  letter  has  been  changed  : 

"  SCHEVENINGEN,  Feb.  28,  189-. 

"...  The  winter  has  been,  as  probably  everywhere 
else,  exceptionally  cold ;  an  old-fashioned  winter,  and  one 
that  will  be  recorded  in  the  annals  of  history  and  not  soon 
forgotten.  Of  course,  it  has  been  the  cause  of  much  pov 
erty  and  misery,  and  every  one  was  thankful  when,  after 
weeks  of  severe  frost,  the  thaw  fell  in ;  but  much  has  been 
done  to  soften  the  sufferings  of  the  poor,  and  those  who 
went  round  to  ask  for  help  did  not  ask  in  vain.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  whole  country  was  alive  with  wholesome 
merriment,  caused  by  the  skating  that  was  practised  over 
the  whole  length  and  width  of  our  watery  little  land. 


92  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Holland  is  very  characteristic  and  very  much  at  its  ad 
vantage  during  such  a  time,  and  I  am  really  thankful  to 
have  been  able  to  join  in  the  universal  movement. 

"  As  you  know,  a  great  many  of  the  people,  especially 
the  peasants,  skate  very  well.  The  country  is  cut  up  by 
canals  running  from  one  town  to  the  other,  and  from  one 
village  to  the  other ;  along  these  waters  slow  barges  travel 
peacefully  the  whole  summer  through,  laden  with  coals, 
wood,  vegetables,  pottery,  and  numberless  other  things ;  a 
great  deal  of  traffic  is  done  in  this  slow  but  sure  way,  as  it 
is  a  very  cheap  mode  of  transport.  But  these  same  waters 
now  bore  a  much  livelier  aspect.  People  of  all  classes 
skated  along  their  smooth  surfaces,  and  many  have  been 
the  expeditions  planned  and  executed  to  skate  from  one 
town  to  the  other,  halting  at  several  small  villages  on  the 
way,  and  thus  seeing  the  country  in  an  original  and  very 
pleasant  manner.  .  .  . 

"  My  sister  and  I,  and  several  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
made  a  charming  excursion  on  one  of  the  finest  and  mild 
est  days  of  the  winter.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  the  sky 
was  blue,  and  although  the  thermometer  pointed  below 
zero,  it  was  quite  warm  and  delicious  to  skate.  We  were 
quite  a  large  party,  and  went  from  the  Hague  to  Amster 
dam,  and  thence  across  the  Y  and  farther  over  the  inland 
waters  to  Monnickendam,  on  skates  of  course. 

"  Monnickendam  lies  at  the  Zuider  Zee,  which  is  a  kind 
of  bay  formed  by  the  North  Sea  and  surrounded  by  sev 
eral  provinces  of  our  country.  In  comparison  with  your 
grand  lakes,  it  is  small,  but  we  consider  it  quite  a  large 
water,  and  it  is  very  rarely  frozen  over.  This  year,  how- 


HOLLAND   TO-DAY  95 

ever,  it  was  one  immense  surface  of  ice,  stretching  itself 
out  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  It  was  quite  the  thing 
this  winter  to  go  out  and  see  it ;  so,  of  course,  we  went 
there  and  visited  the  small  island  of  Marken,  which  is 
situated  near  the  coast. 

" .  .  .  A  small  steamer  goes  daily  from  Monnickendam 
to  the  island,  or  three  times  a  week — I  'm  not  sure  about 
that ;  now  all  the  communication  was  done  by  sledge  and 
on  skates  over  the  ice.  Thousands  of  people  have  seen 
Marken  this  winter  in  that  way,  and  the  place  is  quite  a 
curiosity,  especially  for  strangers.  (If  you  happen  to  have 
a  map  of  the  Netherlands  you  '11  be  sure  to  find  where  it 
lies  in  the  Zuider  Zee.) 

"The  quaint  costumes  worn  by  the  peasant  men  and 
women  are  alone  well  worth  the  voyage  to  the  place,  being 
quite  different  from  those  worn  in  Scheveningen,  and  be 
sides  the  pokey  little  wooden  houses  are  charming  in  their 
way,  and  exceedingly  clean  and  neat,  with  rows  of  colored 
earthenware  dishes  along  the  walls,  and  carved  chests  and 
painted  wooden  boxes  piled  one  on  the  top  of  the  other 
containing  their  clothes.  Although  so  near  the  civilized 
world  these  good  people  live  quite  apart,  hardly  ever 
marry  some  one  not  from  the  island,  and  seem  quite  con 
tented.  They  earn  their  living  by  fishing,  and  occasion 
ally  get  as  far  as  a  harbor  of  Scotland. 

"When  we  arrived  at  Marken  across  the  ice  we  were 
very  hungry,  and  on  asking  a  peasant  if  he  could  procure 
us  something  to  eat,  were  very  hospitably  received  in  his 
little  house  by  his  wife,  who  regaled  us  on  bread,  cheese, 
and  milk.  Enormous  hunches  of  bread !  but  what  will  a 


96 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


A    WOMAN     OF    ZEELAND. 


hungry  skater  not  eat  ?  And  we  sat  very  snugly  in  their 
little  room,  admiring  all  their  funny  little  contrivances. 
"...  The  Zuider  Zee  was  very  curious  and  interesting 
to  see.  Fancy  an  enormous  field  of  ice  crowded  with  thou 
sands  of  people  all  on  skates,  and,  moving  swiftly  between 
them,  brightly  painted  sledges  with  strong  horses  and  jing- 


HOLLAND   TO-DAY  97 

ling  bells,  looking  very  picturesque.  Also  little  ice-boats 
with  large  sails  that  come  flying  across  the  frozen  waters, 
looking  like  great  birds,  but  keeping  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  crowd  for  fear  of  accidents.  A  fair  was  held  on 
the  ice,  where  were  going  on  all  kinds  of  harmless  amuse 
ments  ;  and  there  were  tents  where  they  sold  cakes  and 
steaming  hot  milk  and  chocolate.  The  whole  scene,  the 
bright,  moving,  joyous  crowd,  made  me  think  of  the  pictures 
by  the  old  masters,  like  Teniers  and  Ostade,  it  was  so  thor 
oughly  Dutch.  But  to  think  that  this  immense  solid  sur 
face,  whereon  you  moved  so  confidently,  would  melt  again 
before  the  year  was  much  older  and  change  itself  into  lap 
ping  waves  !  It  was  hardly  conceivable  ! 

"  At  the  Hague  we  have  a  very  prettily  situated  skating- 
club,  where  our  little  circle  of  friends  saw  each  other  daily 
and  where  we  spent  many  a  pleasant  hour.  So  the  winter 
has  flown  by.  It  is  not  quite  over,  but  it  seems  so  to  me, 
as  the  last  weeks  have  been  very  fine,  and  the  place  where 
we  live,  being  half  country,  directly  takes  a  spring-like  air. 
Tennis  begins  to  reign  supreme,  and  I  am  going  to  practise 
this  game  very  seriously. 

"...  I  have  not  heard  much  music  this  winter.  Our 
German  opera,  which  grew  poorer  and  poorer  every  year,  is 
now  gone  altogether,  and  that  was  the  only  way  in  which  we 
heard  some  Wagnerian  operas,  which  I  like  above  all  others; 
indeed,  the  more  you  hear  them  the  less  you  care  about  the 
others.  Once  a  fortnight  I  regularly  go  to  the  concert,  but 
there  are  times  when  I  can't  listen  to  the  music.  My 
mind  strays,  and  try  as  much  as  I  will,  the  sounds  pass 
over  me  and  don't  leave  any  impression ;  I  think  the  reason 


98  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

of  this  is  that  I  have  heard  too  much  music  in  the  last  few 
years,  and  that  I  don't  appreciate  it.  So  when  it  is  not 
something  I  like  very  much  I  had  rather  not  hear  it,  as 
I  think  it  only  needlessly  fatigues  my  brain,  and  so  I  do 
not  profit  by  it  at  all.  .  .  . 

"  Your  letter  was  very  pleasant  and  so  fluently  Avritten ! 
I  wish  I  could  do  as  well.  My  only  consolation  is  that  it  is 
not  my  language;  but  then  I  cannot  produce  such  a  good 
style  in  Dutch  either,  and  you  will  hardly  believe  it,  but  I 
need  a  dictionary  more  when  I  write  a  Dutch  letter  than 
when  I  write  an  English  one.  Of  course  I  make  a  great 
many  mistakes  in  English,  but  Dutch  is  a  far  more  difficult 
language,  and  you  never  know  when  a  word  is  masculine 
or  feminine  (unless  you  are  exceedingly  clever!),  as  it 
makes  no  difference  when  you  speak,  but  a  great  difference 
when  you  write;  so  if  you  want  to  write  correctly  you  have 
to  look  in  the  dictionary  or  else  to  guess.  Then  you  say, 
'Oh!  that  word  is  probably  feminine,'  and  you  change  the 
sentence  accordingly,  and  afterward  you  discover  that  you 
were  quite  wrong.  Is  not  that  a  troublesome  language  ? 
The  Erench  can  hear  when  to  put  'le'  or 'la'  before  the 
word  (at  least  they  rarely  make  mistakes),  but  we  can't.  It 
sounds  all  the  same  when  speaking. 

"...  The  year  that  has  gone  has  been  very  much  like 
the  foregoing  ones  except  for  some  political  events  which 
have  created  a  change  in  our  country.  Our  old  king  died, 
as  you  remember,  and  at  his  death  there  was  a  sincere 
mourning  over  the  whole  country.  Personally  he  was  not 
so  very  much  liked  ;  still  his  subjects  were  attached  to 
him  because  he  was  (his  two  sons  having  died)  the  last 


HOLLAND   TO-DAY^ 


male  descendant  of  a  glorious  and  highly  respected  race  : 
the  House  of  Orange.  The  Oranges  are  loved  by  the 
Dutch  because  they  can  boast  of  many  a  valorous  and 
wise  ancestor,  but  principally  because  the  head  of  the 
house,  Prince  William,  who  was  murdered  in  1584,  freed 
the  people  from  the  Spanish  tyrant  whose  despotic  reign 
had  become  unbearable. 

"The  sole  descendant  of  this  long  list  of  princes  and 
kings  is  our  little  Queen  Wilhelmina,  much  beloved  by 
the  people,  who  cherish  her  as  something  very  precious. 
The  government  is  now  in  the  hands  of  her  mother,  who 
is  queen  regent  until  the  little  one  is  eighteen  years  old. 
Queen  Emma  is  a  very  superior  woman,  kind  and  wise, 
giving  her  little  daughter  a  sensible  education,  and  quite 
capable  of  filling  her  difficult  position  and  of  executing 
her  duties  exceedingly  well. 

"Of  course  you,  like  a  true  American,  do  not  feel  any 
enthusiasm  for  kings  and  queens,  but  our  government  is 
constitutional  and  liberal,  and  I  don't  think  the  people  have 
in  reality  much  more  freedom  in  any  of  the  new  republics 
than  in  our  kingdom.  The  two  queens  live  in  the  Hague. 
As  yet,  of  course,  everything  is  very  quiet  at  the  court,  but 
the  mother  and  daughter  can  be  seen  daily  when  driving 
out,  looking  very  happy  together.  They  pass  our  house 
nearly  every  day.  I  would  not  be  a  queen  for  anything— 
would  you  ?  Fancy  not  a  bit  of  freedom,  not  being  able 
to  move  a  step  without  the  whole  land,  so  to  say,  knowing 
of  it  ;  their  sorrows  and  rejoicings  public  sorrows  and 
rejoicings  !  Seemingly  rulers  of  the  land,  but  in  reality 
dictated  to  in  their  slightest  acts  ! 


102 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


"  As  yet  all  goes  well  in  our  little  country,  and  I  don't 
think  we  need  have  any  fear  of  being  swallowed  up  by  the 
great  states  that  surround  us. 

"...  And  now,  my  dear  L.,  it  is  really  time  to  finish 
I  think  I  never  wrote  such  a  Ions  one 


this  long  letter, 
before.  . 


ELSIE  M — ." 


oes  well  in  our  little  country."     Cheery  words, 
these,  from  a  daughter  of  the  race. 

Long  may  all  go  well  with  sturdy,  steadfast  Holland, 
girt  with  grim  dikes  higher  than  the  tallest  of  its  foes  ; 
the  land  of  whirling  sails  and  leaning  seas ;  the  great 
little  land  of  oddity,  thrift,  patriotism — and  pluck! 


DAY-DREAMS    ON   THE   DIKE 


DAY-DEEAMS   ON   THE   DIKE 

THERE  were  five  of  them, —  Dirk  van  Dorf,  Katrina 
van  Dorf,  Greitje  Kuyp,  Kassy  Eiker,  and  Lndoff  Kleef,— 
five  stout  little  Hollanders,  all  well  and  happy,  and  all 
sitting  in  the  broad,  bright  sunlight — dreaming  ! 

It  was  not  so  at  first,  you  must  know.  They  had  been 
trudging  along  the  great  dike, —  their  loose  wooden  shoes 
beating  the  hard  clay — laughing  a  little,  talking  less,  yet 
with  an  air  of  goodfellowship  about  them  —  these  chubby 
little  neighbor  children,  who  knew  one  another  so  well  that 
by  a  nod  or  a  gesture,  or  by  throwing  a  quick  glance  or  a 
smile,  they  could  take  one  another's  meaning  and  make 
two  words  do  the  work  of  twenty.  Their  fathers  and 
mothers  were  thrifty,  hard-working  folk  living  in  Volen- 
dam,  a  little  fishing-village  hard  by,  built  under  one  of 
the  dikes  of  the  Zuyder  Zee. 

The  children,  being  Hollanders,  knew  quite  well  that 
the  dike  they  were  treading  was  a  massive,  wide  bank  or 

105 


106 


THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 


wall  built  to  keep  back  the  sea  that  was  forever  trying  to 
spread  itself  over  Holland,  though  Holland  by  no  means 
intended  to  allow  it  to  do  any  such  thing.  And  they 
knew  also,  as  did  all  Volendani,  that  Jan  van  lliper  had 
been  out  over  long  in  his  little  fishing-boat,  and  that  therehad 
been  heavy  winds 
after  he  started ; 
also  that  his  wife, 
who  was  continually 
scolding  him,  was 
now  going  about, 
her  eyes  red  witli 
weeping,  telling  the 
neighbors  how  good 
and  easy  he  was, 
and  how  he  would 
n't  harm  a  kitten 
—  Jan  would  n't ! 
They  knew,  more 
over,  that  Adrian 
Eimckel's  tulip-bed 
was  a  show;  hardly 
another  man  in  the 
village  had  a  flower  worth  looking  at,  if  you  went  in  for 
size,  color,  and  stiffness.  They  knew,  besides,  that  ever 
so  many  queer  flapping  and  squirming  things  had  been 
hauled  in  that  very  morning  by  Peter  Loop's  big  net — 
only  he  was  dreadfully  cross,  and  would  n't  let  a  body 
come  near  it — that  is,  a  little  body.  Above  all,  they 
knew  that  the  mother  of  Ludoff  Kleef  was  coming  to  join 


;HE  WOULD  N  T  HARM  A  KITTEN  —  JAN  WOULD  N* 


DAY-DREAMS   ON  THE  DIKE  1Q7 

them  as  soon  as  she  could  finish  up  her  dairy-work,  and 
make  herself  and  the  children  tidy.  All  the  party  need  do 
was  to  keep  along  the  dike  and  be  good,  and  take  care  of 
little  Ludoff,  and  sit  down  and  rest  whenever  they  felt 
like  resting,  and  of  all  things  they  were  not  to  soil  or 
tear  their  clothes.  So  you  see  they  were  neither  empty- 
headed  nor  careworn,  nor  were  they  in  any  danger  of 
falling  asleep ;  yet  there  they  sat,  on  the  dike,  side  by 
side,  dreaming ! 

Kassy  Hiker  was  the  first  to  glide  into  a  dream,  though 
sitting  close  beside  little  Ludoff,  who  wriggled,  and  won 
dered  why  his  mother  and  sister  and  baby  brother  did  n't 
come.  He  wanted  to  cry,  but  he  felt  in  the  depth  of  his 
baby  soul  that  Kassy  would  laugh  at  him  if  he  did;  and  as 
for  the  others,  Greitje  Kuyp  was  gazing  a  hundred  "miles 
out  to  sea  already ;  Katrina  van  Dorf  was  so  busy  with  her 
knitting  that  she  had  forgotten  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
a  small  boy  in  the  world ;  and  big  boy  Dirk  van  Dorf — why, 
he  was  altogether  too  grand  a  person  to  be  moved  by  any 
amount  of  howling.  So  poor  little  Ludoff  amused  himself 
by  watching  a  long  straw  that  in  the  still  air  hitched  itself 
along  till  it  wavered  feebly  on  the  edge  of  the  dike,  uncer 
tain  whether  to  stay  on  shore  or  start  on  a  seafaring 
career.  If  the  straw  had  settled  upon  any  definite  course 
of  action,  Ludoff  would  have  done  the  same  ;  but,  as  it 
was,  Ludoff  kept  on  watching  and  watching  it  until,  in 
the  stillness,  he  forgot  all  about  being  a  little  boy  who 
wanted  his  mother;  for  was  not  the  straw  whisking  one 
end  feebly,  and  turning  round  to  begin  again  ? 

Meantime  Greitje  Kuyp  gazed  out  to  sea?  the  great 


108  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Zuyder  Zee,  wondering  why  any  one  should  think  it  was 
trying  to  come  ashore  and  do  mischief.  It  was  so  quiet, 
so  grand,  and  it  bore  the  big  fishing-smacks  so  patiently, 
when  it  could  so  easily  topple  them  over !  Mother  was 
patient  and  peaceful,  too.  Greitje  herself  (so  went  her 
day-dream)  would  be  just  like  Mother,  one  of  these  days : 
she  would  sew  and  mend  and  churn  and  bake,  only  she 
would  make  more  cakes  and  less  bread.  Yes,  she  would 
bake  great  chests  full  of  cinnamon-cakes, — Jcaneel  kockjes, — 
such  as  they  sold  at  the  Kermis ;  and  she  would  be,  oh, 
just  as  good  and  kind  to  her  little  girl  as  Mother  was  to 

her,  and — 

*  *         # 

"I  'm  not  going  to  stay  at  home  all  my  life,"  Kassy 
Eiker  was  thinking  or  dreaming.  "  Some  day  I  shall 
keep  a  beautiful  shop  in  Amsterdam,  and  sell  laces  and 
caps  and  head-gear  and  lovely  things  ;  and  I  '11  courtesy 
and  say  'ja,  mynheer,'  like  a  grand  lady;  and  I  '11  learn 
to  sing  and  dance  better  than  any  girl  at  the  Kermis ; 
and  I  shall  wear  gold  on  my  temples,  and  have  a  lovely 
jacket  for  skating- days ;  and  every  month  I  '11  come  back 
for  a  while,  and  bring  pretty  things  to  Father,  Mother,  and 

the  minister  ;   and  — 

*  *         * 

"  I  've  done  full  a  finger-length  of  it  to-day,"  mused 
Katrina,  as  she  pressed  her  red  lips  together  and  worked 
steadily  at  the  chain  she  was  weaving  on  a  pin-rack 
for  her  father.  "  It  shall  be  done  by  his  birthday,  and 
I  '11  hang  his  big  silver  watch  on  it  while  he  's  asleep, 
and  then  kiss  and  hug  him  till  he  opens  his  eyes.  Ah, 


DAY-DREAMS  ON  THE  DIKE  109 

how  we  all  will  wish  him  a  happy  clay  and  the  Lord's 
blessing  !  And  if  he  gives  me  a  little  cart  some  time  for 
my  dog  '  Shag '  to  draw,  I  think  1  '11  fill  it  full  of  wet, 
shining  fish  and  sell  them  at  the  market-town.  No  ;  I  '11 
help  Mother  very  hard  at  making  the  cheeses ;  and  I  '11 
fill  the  cart  with  them  ;  and  soon  Mother  can  have  a  fine 
new  lace  cap  with  the  money,  and  a  silk  apron ;  and  maybe 
I  '11  be  so  useful  to  the  family  that  they  '11  decide  to  take 
me  out  of  school ;  and  then — and  then  I  '11  wTork  and  I  '11 
save,  and  save,  till  perhaps— 

*  *         * 

"  Can  that  be  Jan  van  Riper' s  boat  ? "  mused  big  boy 
Dirk,  as  he  eyed  a  fishing-smack  just  coming  into  view. 
"  No,  it  's  my  uncle  Ryk's.  Like  enough,  Jan  has  landed 
somewhere  and  put  off  to  foreign  parts,  as  he  often  says 
he  will  when  Vrouw  van  Riper' s  tongue  gets  too  lively. 
/  should.  I  'd  like  to  go  to  foreign  parts,  anyway.  Lots 
of  room  for  a  fellow  in  Java;  lots  of  rich  Hollanders  there 
— we  Hollanders  own  it,  they  say ;  and  there  's  no  reason 
a  fellow  like  me  should  n't  grow  to  be  a  merchant  and 
own  warehouses,  and— 

*  *         * 

So  the  dreams  ran  on, —  Greitje's,  Kassy  Eiker's, 
Katrina's,  and  Dirk  van  Dorf's, — all  different,  and  all  very 
absorbing.  Meantime  the  straw  had  shown  itself  so  weak- 
minded  and  tedious  that  little  Ludoff  had  nodded  himself 
into  a  dose  as  he  leaned  against  Greitje's  plump  little 
shoulder.  The  dreaming  time,  pleasant  as  it  was,  had 
really  not  been  very  long ;  for  even  a  smooth  sea,  a  soft 
summer  breeze,  and  five  serene  little  Dutch  natures  could 


HO  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

not  have  kept  ten  young  legs  and  ten  young  arms  quiet 
any  longer. 

A  .great  shout  from  the  village  came  faintly  to  the  chil 
dren's  ears.  Jan's  boat  was  in  sight !  The  little  folk 
were  up  and  alert  in  an  instant.  They  turned  about, 
to  look  back  toward  the  village, —  and  if  there  was  not 
Ludoff's  mother,  Mevrouw  l  Kleef,  erect  and  smiling,  com 
ing  briskly  along  the  dike  toward  them  !  How  handsome 
she  looked,  with  her  bright  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  and 
the  big  lace  cap,  the  blue-and-black  short  skirt,  and 
the  low  jacket  over  the  gaily-colored  under  waist  !  Her 
little  Troide  toddled  beside  her,  taking  two  steps  to 
the  mother's  one,  with  deep  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
line  of  familiar  forms  just  risen  from  the  dike.  The 
baby — it  was  a  boy ;  one  could  tell  tlmt  by  the  woolen 
slaapmuts,  or  nightcap,  on  his  head,  for  the  girl-babies  in 
Volendam  never  wear  that  kind — the  baby,  trig  and  smart, 
Grazed  from  the  mother's  arms  at  the  same  five  familiar 

O 

little  forms,  and  in  a  moment  the  children  all  were  crowd 
ing  around  the  mevrouw. 

"  Jan  is  back,  is  n't  he  ? "  asked  Dirk. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  carelessly.  The  good 
woman  was  rather  tired  of  her  neighbor  Jan  van  Kiper's 
frequent  misbehaviiigs  and  false  alarms. 

"  My,  how  warm  the  day  ! "  she  added,  gently  setting  the 
baby  down  upon  the  turf  beside  her ;  "  and  the  dear  child 
is  as  weighty  as  a  keg  of  herring ! " 

"  Oh,  oh,  the  beauty ! "  exclaimed  the  girls,  quite  en 
raptured  with  the  little  one;  while  Dirk  and  Ludoff 

1  Mevrouw,  Madam  (pronounced  Meffrouw). 


LUUOFF'S    MOTHER,     MEVROUW     KLEEF,    WAS     CQM1NQ    13RISKLY     A 


DAY-DREAMS   ON  THE  DIKE  H3 

doubled  their  lists,  and  pretended  (to  his  great  delight) 
they  were  going  to  pummel  him  soundly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  mother.  "  He  's  a  bouncing  little  man, 
and  with  a  good  head  of  his  own.  I  was  saying  to  myself 
as  I  came  along  that  I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  should  get 
to  be  a  grand  burgomeister  some  day,  and  rule  a  city,  and 
lift  us  all  to  greatness — and  so  you  shall,  my  little  one ! 
There,  there,  don't  pull  my  skirt  off,  my  Ludoff ! "  Then, 
looking  brightly  from  one  to  another  of  the  group,  Mev- 
rouw  Kleef  asked : 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing — you.  Dirk,  Katrina, 
and  the  rest  of  you  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  answered  the  children ;  but  they  all  looked 
very  happy.  Day-dreams  linger  about  us,  you  know,  and 
light  our  way  even  when  they  are  half  forgotten. 

"And  now,  my  children,"  she  continued,  "  we  are  to  have 
a  great  pleasure,  for  I  shall  take  you  all  to  see  the  men 
start  Eaff  Ootcalt's  new  windmill  this  very  afternoon. 
Baff  is  to  make  a  short  speech,  and  there  will  be  music 
and  dancing  and  a  little  feast." 

"  Good,  good  ! "  cried  the  happy  little  crowd,  eager  to 
set  off  at  once. 

So  the  mother  took  up  her  little  burgomeister,  and,  rosy 
and  smiling,  started  on  her  way  back  to  the  village,  the 
children  trudging  after. 


PAET   II 
STOEIES   AND    SKETCHES 


WOKDEBING   TOM 


'OH,   TOM!    THE    KING    WISHES    TO    SPEAK    WITH    VOU  !  " 


WONDEEING  TOM 

LONG,  long  ago,  in  a  great  city  whose  name  is  forgotten, 
situated  on  a  river  that  ran  dry  in  the  days  of  Cinderella, 
there  lived  a  certain  boy,  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow. 
He  had  such  a  fine  form  and  pleasant  face  that  one  day,  as 
lie  loitered  on  his  mother's  door-step,  the  King  stopped  on 
the  street  to  look  at  him. 

"Who  is  that  boy?"  asked  his  Majesty  of  his  Prime 
Minister. 

This  question  brought  the  entire  royal  procession  to  a 
standstill. 

The  Prime  Minister  did  not  know,  so  he  asked  the  Lord 
of  the  Exchequer.  The  Lord  of  the  Exchequer  asked  the 
High  Chamberlain ;  the  High  Chamberlain  asked  the 
Master  of  the  Horse ;  the  Master  of  the  Horse  asked  the 
Court  Physician;  the  Court  Physician  asked  the  Royal 
Bat-Catcher;  the  Ptoyal  Eat-Catcher  asked  the  Chief- 
Cook-and-Bottle- Washer ;  and  the  Chief- Cook-and-Bottle- 
Washer  asked  a  little  girl  named  Wisk. 

Little  Wisk,  with  a  pretty  courtesy,  informed  him  that 
the  boy's  name  was  Wondering  Tom. 


A<3 

S*  117 


118  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  So,  ho  !  "  said  the  Chief -Cook-and-Bottle- Washer,  tell 
ing  the  Eoyal  Eat-Catcher.  "So,  ho! "  said  the  Eoyal  Eat- 
Catcher,  passing  on  the  news ;  and  it  traveled  in  that  way 
until,  finally,  the  Prime  Minister,  bowing  low  to  the  King, 
said  : 

"  May  it  please  your  most  tremendous  Majesty,  it  's 
Wondering  Tom." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  here ! "  said  the  King  to  the  Prime 
Minister.  "  His  Majesty  commands  him  to  come  here  ! " 
was  repeated  to  the  next  in  rank ;  and  again  his  words 
traveled  through  the  Lord  of  the  Exchequer,  the  High 
Chamberlain,  the  Master  of  the  Horse,  the  Court  Physician, 
the  Eoyal  Eat-Catcher,  and  the  Chief-Cook-and-Bottle- 
Washer,  until  they  reached  little  Wisk,  who  called  out : 

"  Oh,  Tom  !  the  King  wishes  to  speak  with  you." 

"With  me!"  exclaimed  Tom,  never  budging.     "Why?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  little  Wisk,  "  but  you  must  go 
at  once." 

"  Why  ?  "  cried  Tom. 

"  Oh,  Tom  !  Tom  !  they  're  going  to  kill  you,"  she  cried, 
in  an  agony. 

"WHY?  What  for?"  shouted  Tom,  staring  in  the  wild 
est  astonishment. 

Surely  enough,  the  Master  of  Ceremonies  had  ordered 
forth  an  executioner  with  a  bowstring.  In  that  city,  any 
man,  woman,  or  child  who  disregarded  the  King's  slightest 
wish  was  instantly  put  to  death. 

The  man  approached  Tom.  Another  second,  and  the 
bowstring  would  have  done  its  work  ;  but  the  King  held 
up  his  royal  hand  in  token  of  pardon,  and  beckoned  Tom 
to  draw  near. 


WONDERING   TOM  119 

"Whatever  in  all  this  world  can  his  Majesty  want  with 
me  ? "  pondered  the  bewildered  boy,  moving  very  slowly 
toward  the  monarch. 

"  Well,  sir  ! "  said  his  Majesty,  scowling.  "  So  you  are 
here  at  last !  Why  do  they  call  yon  Wondering  Tom  ? " 

"ME,  your  Majesty?"  faltered  Tom.  "I  — I— don't 
know." 

"  You  don't  know  ?  (Most  remarkable  boy,  this  !)  And 
what  were  you  doing,  sir,  when  we  sent  for  you  ? " 

"  Nothing,  your  Majesty.  I  was  only  wondering 
whether  — 

"Ah,  I  see.  You  take  your  life  out  in  wondering.  A 
fine,  strong  fellow  like  you  has  no  right  to  be  idling  in  his 
mother's  doorway.  A  pretty  kingdom  we  should  have  if 
all  our  subjects  were  like  this  !  You  may  go. 

"  He  has  a  good  face,"  continued  the  King,  turning  to  the 
Prime  Minister,  "  but  he  '11  never  amount  to  anything." 

"Ah,  exactly  so,"  said  the  Prime  Minister.  "  Exactly  so," 
echoed  the  Lord  of  the  Exchequer,  and  "  Exactly  so," 
sighed  the  Chief-Cook-and-Bottle-Washer  at  last,  as  the 
royal  procession  passed  on. 

Tom  heard  it  all. 

"  Now,  how  do  they  know  that  ?  "  he  muttered,  scratch 
ing  his  head  as  he  lounged  back  to  the  door-step.  "  Why  in 
the  world  do  they  think  I  '11  never  amount  to  anything  ? " 

In  the  doorway  he  fell  to  thinking  of  little  Wisk. 

"  What  a  very  nice  girl  she  is  !  I  wonder  if  she  'd  play 
with  me  if  I  asked  her, — but  I  can't  ask  her.  I  do 
wonder  what  makes  me  so  afraid  to  talk  to  Wisk  ! " 

Meantime,  little  Wisk,  who  lived  in  the  next  house, 
watched  him  shyly. 


120  T1I.E  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Tom ! "  she  called  out  at  last,  swaying  herself  lithely 
round  and  round  her  wooden  door-post,  "  the  blackberries 
are  ripe." 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  And,  Tom,  there  are  bushels  of  them  in  the 
woods  just  outside  of  the  city  gates." 

"  Oh  ! "  answered  Torn,  "  I  wonder  if  there  are  ! " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  little  Wisk,  decidedly,  "  and  I  'in  going 
to  get  some." 

"  Dear  me  ! "  thought  Tom,  "  T  wonder  if  she  'd  like  to 
have  me  go  with  her.  Wisk  !  " 

"  What,  Tom  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  the  frightened  fellow,  suddenly 
changing  his  mind,  "  I  was  only  wondering  whether  it  is 
going  to  rain  or  not." 

"  Eain  ?  Of  course  not,"  laughed  little  Wisk,  as  she 
ran  off  to  join  a  group  of  children  going  toward  the  north 
city -gate  ;  "  but  even  if  it  should  rain,  what  matter  ? " 

"Oh,"  thought  Tom,  "she  's  really  gone  for  blackberries  ! 
I  wondered  what  she  had  that  little  kettle  on  her  arm  for. 
Pshaw  !  Why  did  n't  I  tell  her  that  I  'd  like  to  go  too  ? " 

Just  then  his  mother  came  to  the  door,  clapping  a  wet 
ruffle  between  her  hands.  She  was  a  clear-starcher. 

"  Tom,  Tom  !  why  don't  you  set  about  something ! 
There  's  plenty  to  do,  in  doors  and  out,  if  you  'd  only 
think  so." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Tom,  wondering  whether  or  not  he 
was  going  to  have  a  scolding. 

"  But  you  look  pale,  my  pet ;  go  and  play.  Do.  One 
does  n't  often  have  such  a  perfect  day  as  this  (and  such 


WONDERING   TOM  121 

splendid  drying,  too ! ).  If  I  were  you,  I  'd  make  the 
most  of  it " ;  and  the  mother  went  back  into  the  bare 
entry,  still  clapping  the  ruffle. 

"  I  do  wonder  how  I  can  make  the  most  of  it,"  asked 
Tom  of  himself,  over  and  over  again,  as  he  sauntered  off. 

He  did  n't  dare  to  go  toward  the  north  gate  of  the  city, 
because  he  could  n't  decide  what  he  should  say  if  he 
should  meet  little  Wisk ;  so  he  turned  toward  the  south. 

"  Shall  I  go  back,  I  wonder,  or  keep  on  ? "  thought  Tom, 
as  he  found  himself  going  farther  from  the  door-step  and 
nearer  to  the  great  city-wall,  until  at  last  the  southern 
gate  was  reached.  Following  the  dusty  highway  leading 
from  the  city,  he  came  to  pleasant  fields.  Then,  after 
wading  awhile  through  the  sunlit  grain,  he  followed  a 
shady  brook  and  entered  the  wood. 

"  It  's  pleasant  here,"  he  thought.  "  I  wonder  why 
mother  did  n't  get  a  cottage  out  here  in  the  country  in 
stead  of  living  in  the  noisy  city." 

"  Could  n't,"  croaked  a  voice  close  by. 

Tom  started.  There  was  nobody  near  but  frogs  and 
crickets.  Besides,  as  lie  had  not  spoken  aloud,  of  course 
it  could  not  be  in  answer  to  him.  Still,  he  wondered 
what  in  the  world  the  voice  could  be,  and  why  it  sounded 
like  "  could  n't." 

"  It  certainly  did  sound  so.  Maybe  she  could  n't,  after 
all,"  thought  Tom  ;  "  but  why  could  n't  she,  I  wonder  ? " 

"  No-one-to-help,"  said  something,  as  it  jumped  with  a 
splash  into  the  water. 

"  I  do  wonder  what  that  was  ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  aloud  ; 
"  there  's  nobody  here,  that  's  certain.  Oh,  it  must  have 


122  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

been  a  toad  !  Queer,  though,  how  very  much  it  sounded 
like  '  no-one-to-help  ' !  Poor  mother  !  I  don't  help  her 
much,  I  know.  Pshaw !  what  if  I  do  love  her,  I  'in  not 
the  least  bit  of  use,  for  I  never  know  what  to  start  about 
doing.  What  in  all  botheration  makes  me  so  lazy ! 
Heigh-ho ! "  and  Tom  threw  himself  upon  the  grass,  an 
image  of  despair.  '  He  '11  never  amount  to  anything,'  the 
King  said.  Now,  what  did  he  mean  by  that  ? " 

"  Uilly,  dally  ! "  said  another  mysterious  voice,  speaking 
far  up  among  the  branches  overhead. 

Tom  was  getting  used  to  it.  He  just  lifted  his  eyebrows 
a  little  and  wondered  what  bird  that  was.  In  a  moment 
he  found  himself  puzzling  over  the  strange  words. 

"  '  Uilly,  dally,'  it  said,  I  declare.  Oh  dear !  It  's  too 
bad  to  have  to  hear  such  things  all  the  time.  And  then, 
there  's  the  King's  ugly  speech ;  a  fellow  is  n't  agoing  to 
stand  everything ! " 

He  rested  his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  holding  his  face 
between  his  hands ;  and,  although  he  felt  very  wretched,  he 
could  n't  help  wondering  whether  the  daisies  crowding  in 
his  shadow  did  n't  think  it  was  growing  late.  They  cer 
tainly  nodded  as  if  they  felt  sleepy. 

Suddenly  his  hat,  which  had  tumbled  from  his  head  and 
now  lay  near  him,  began  to  twitch  strangely. 

"Pshaw!"  almost  sobbed  Tom,  "what  's  coming  now,  I 
wonder  ? " 

"  I  am,"  said  a  piping  voice. 

"  Where  are  you  ? "  he  asked,  trembling. 

"  Here.     Under  your  hat.     Lift  it  off." 

While  Tom  was  wondering  whether  to  obey  or  not,  the 


WONDERING  TOM  123 

hat  fell  over,  and  out  came  a  fairy,  all  shining  with  green 
and  gold, — a  funny  little  creature  with  a  sprightly  air. 
Her  eyes  sparkled  like  diamonds. 

"  What  troubles  you,  Master  Torn  ? "  asked  the  fairy. 

"  So  she  knows  my  name  !  "  thought  the  puzzled  youth  ; 
"  well,  that  's  queerer  than  anything  !  I  Ve  always  heard 
that  these  woods  were  full  of  fairies ;  but  I  never  saw  one 
before.  I  wonder  why  I  'in  not  more  frightened." 

"  Did  you  hear  me  ? "  piped  the  little  visitor. 

"  Did  you  speak?  Oh — yes — ma'am — certainly,  I  heard 
plainly  enough." 

"  Well,  what  troubles  you  ? " 

He  looked  sharply  at  the  fairy.  Yes,  her  little  face  was 
kind.  He  would  tell  her  all. 

"  I  wonder  what  your  name  is  ? "  he  said,  by  way  of  a 
beginning. 

"  It  's  Setalit,"  said  the  fairy.  "  In  mortal  language  that 
means  'come-to-the-point.'  Now  be  quick!  —  if  you  can. 
I  sha'n't  stay  long." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  Tom,  quite  astonished. 

"  Because  I  cannot.  That  's  enough.  If  you  wisli  me 
to  help  you,  you  must  promptly  tell  me  your  trouble." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Tom,  wondering  where  to  begin. 

"Are  you  lame  ?  Are  you  sick  ?  Are  you  blind,  deaf, 
or  dumb  ? "  she  asked,  briskly. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  replied,  "  nothing  like  that.  Only  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  things.  Everything  in  this  world 
puzzles  me  so,  and  I  can't  ever  make  up  my  mind  what 
to  do." 

"  Well,"  said  Setalit,  "  perhaps  I  can  help  you  a  little." 


124  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Can  you  ? "  lie  exclaimed.  "  Now  I  wonder  how  in 
the  world  such  a  little  mite  as  you  ever — 

"Don't  wonder  so  much,"  squeaked  the  fairy,  impa 
tiently,  "  but  ask  me  frankly  what  I  can  do  ? " 

"  I  'm  going  to,"  said  Tom. 

"  Going  to  ! "  she  echoed.  "  What  miserable  creatures 
you  mortals  are !  How  could  we  ever  get  our  gossamers 
spun  if  we  always  were  going  to  do  a  thing,  and  never 
doing  it !  Now  listen.  I  'in  a  very  wise  fairy,  if  I  am  small ; 
I  can  tell  you  how  to  accomplish  anything  you  please. 
Don't  you  want  to  be  good,  famous,  and  rich  ? " 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  answered  Tom,  startled  into  making  a 
prompt  reply. 

"  Very  well,"  she  responded,  quite  pleased.  "  If  you 
always  knew  your  own  mind  as  decidedly  as  that,  they 
would  n't  call  you  '  Wondering  Tom.'  It  's  an  ugly  name, 
Master  Mortal.  If  I  were  you  (may  Titania  pardon  the 
dreadful  supposition ! )  —  if  I  were  you,  I  'd  wonder  less 
and  work  more." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  n't ! "  said  Tom,  half  convinced. 

"  There  you  go  again ! "  screeched  the  fairy,  stamping 
her  tiny  foot.  "  You  're  not  worth  talking  to.  I  shall 
leave  you." 

"  She  's  fading  away,"  cried  Tom.  "  0  fairy,  good  fairy, 
please  come  back !  You  promised  to  tell  me  how  to  be 
come  good  and  famous  and  rich ! " 

Once  more  she  stood  before  him,  looking  brighter  and 
fresher  than  ever. 

"  You  're  a  noisy  mortal,"  she  said,  nodding  pleasantly 
at  Tom.  "  I  thought  for  an  instant  that  it  was  thunder- 


WONDERING   TOM  125 

ing,  but  it  was  only  you,  calling.  I  Ve  a  very  little  while 
to  stay,  but  you  shall  have  one  more  chance  of  obtaining 
everything  you  wish.  Now,  sir,  be  careful !  I  '11  answer 
you  any  three  questions  you  may  choose  to  put  to  me  " ;  and 
Setalit  sat  down  on  a  toadstool,  and  looked  very  profound. 

"  Only  three  ? "  asked  Tom,  anxiously. 

"  Only  three." 

"  Why  can't  you  give  me  a  dozen  ?  There  's  so  much 
that  one  wishes  to  know  in  this  world." 

"  Because  I  cannot,"  said  the  fairy,  firmly. 

"  But  it  's  so  hard  to  put  everything  into  such  a  few 
questions  !  I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  to  decide  upon. 
What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  ask  ? " 

"  Consult  the  dearest  wishes  of  your  heart,"  answered 
Setalit,  "  for  there  is  the  truest  wisdom." 

"Ah,  well.  Let  me  think,"  pursued  Tom,  with  great  de 
liberation.  "  I  want  to  be  wise,  of  course,  and  good,  and 
very  rich, —  and  I  want  mother  to  be  the  same, —  and, 
good  fairy,  if  you  would  n't  mind  it,  little  Wisk  to  be  the 
same  too.  And  dear  me ! — it 's  hard  to  put  everything  into 
such  a  few  questions.  Let  me  see.  First,  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  learn  how  to  become  immensely  rich,  right  off,  and  then 
I  can  give  mother  and  Wisk  everything  they  want;  so,  good 
Setalit,  here  's  my  first  question,  How  can  I  grow  rich,  very 
rich,  in  —  in  one  week  ? " 

The  fairy  shook  her  head. 

"  I  would  answer  you,  Master  Tom,  with  great  pleasure," 
she  said,  "  but  this  is  number  FOUK.  You  have  already 
asked  your  three  questions."  And  she  turned  into  a  green 
frog  and  jumped  away,  chuckling. 


126  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Tom  rubbed  his  eyes  and  sat  up  straight.  Had  he  been 
dreaming  ? 

"  I  'm  a  fool ! "  he  cried. 

All  the  trees  nodded,  and  their  branches  seemed  to  be 
having  great  fun  among  themselves. 

"A  My  fool !  "  he  insisted. 

The  leaves  fairly  tittered. 

"  Did  n't  old  Katy,  the  apple-woman,  call  me  a  goose 
only  this  morning  ? "  he  continued,  growing  very  angry 
with  himself. 

"  Katy  did,"  assented  a  voice  from  among  the  bushes. 

"  Katy  did  n't ! "  contradicted  another. 

"  Katy  did  !  " 

"  Katy  did  n't ! " 

Tom  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Ha  !  ha !  Fight  it  out  among  yourselves,  old  fellows. 
I  may  have  been  asleep ;  but,  anyhow,  I  've  been  a  fool ! " 

"  Ooo  — ! "  echoed  a  solemn  voice  above  him. 

Tom  looked  up,  and  in  the  hollow  of  an  old  tree  he 
saw  a  great  blinking  owl. 

"  Hallo,  old  Goggle-eyes  !  You  're  having  something  to 
say,  too,  are  you  ?  " 

The  owl  shifted  his  position,  and  stared  at  Tom  an 
instant.  Then,  as  if  the  sight  of  so  ridiculous  a  fellow 
was  too  much  for  him,  he  shut  his  eyes  with  a  loud 
"  T'whit ! "  that  made  Tom  jump. 

All  these  things  set  the  poor  boy  to  thinking  in  earnest. 
The  words  of  Setalit  were  ringing  in  his  ears,  "If  I  were 
you,  I  \l  wonder  less  and  work  more.''  Going  back  through 
the  wood  across  the  brook,  and  over  the  lots,  he  pondered 


WONDERING  TOM  127 

and  pondered  over  the  day's  events,  but  with  new  resolu 
tion  in  his  soul.  And  the  result  of  all  his  pondering  was 
that,  as  he  entered  the  eity  gate,  he  snapped  his  fingers, 
saying/'  The  King's  words  shall  never  come  true  !  Wonder 
ing  Tom  is  <K)in2>;  to  work  at  last!" 

o  o        o 


TIIKEE  years  passed  away. 

"  Little  Wisk  "  grew  to  be  quite  a  big  girl ;  but  nobody 
thought  of  calling  her  by  any  other  name.  She  was  so 
lithe  and  quick,  so  rosy,  fresh,  and  sparkling,  and  so  ten 
der  and  true  withal,  that  she  was  Little  Wisk  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

One  chilly  November  afternoon  she  missed  old  Katy, 
the  old  apple-woman,  from  her  accustomed  place  at  the 
street  corner. 

"  She  must  be  ill,"  thought  little  Wisk.  "  Perhaps  she 
has  no  one  to  help  her." 

With  some  persons,  to  think  is  to  act.  AVisk  stepped 
into  a  neighboring  cobbler's  shop. 

"Mr.  Wacksend,  do  you  know  where  the  old  apple- 
woman  lives  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  cobbler,  gruffly.  "  Shut  the  door  when 
you  go  out." 

Little  Wisk  looked  at  him  as  he  sat  upon  his  bench, 
pegging  away  at  his  work. 

"  Poor  man ! "  she  said  to  herself,  "  pushing  the  awl 
through  that  thick  leather  makes  him  press  his  lips  tight 
together,  and  I  suppose  pressing  his  lips  so  tight,  day  after 
day,  makes  him  cross.  I  '11  try  the  butcher." 

She  ran  into  the  next  shop. 


128  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Mr.  Butcher,  do  you  know  where  the  old  apple- woman 

lives  ? " 

"  Well,"  said  the  butcher,  pausing  to  wipe  his  cleaver 
on  his  big  apron,  "  she  does  n't  exactly  live  anywhere. 
But,  as  the  poor  thing  has  neither  kith  nor  kin  to  help 
her,  why,  for  the  past  year  or  so  I  Ve  just  let  her  tumble 
herself  in  under  a  shed  in  my  yard  yonder.  She  's  got  an 
old  chopping-bench  for  a  table,  and  a  pile  of  straw  for  a 
bed,  and  that  's  all  her  housekeeping." 

"And  does  n't  she  have  anything  to  eat  but  apples  ? " 
asked  Wisk,  much  distressed. 

"  Bless  your  simple  heart ! "  said  the  butcher,  laugh 
ing,  "she  can't  afford  to  eat  her  apples.  No,  no.  She 
keeps  the  breath  in  her  body  mostly  with  black  bread 
and  scraps." 

"Scraps?" 

"  Yes,  meat-scraps.  I  save  'em  for  her  out  of  the  trim- 
min's.  But  what  are  you  wantin'  of  her  so  particular  ? 
Did  you  come  to  invite  her  to  court  ?" 

"  I  'd  like  to  see  her  for  a  moment,"  said  Wisk,  shrink 
ing  from  his  coarse  laugh. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  butcher,  beginning  to  chop  again, 
"  the  surest  way  of  seeing  her  is  to  go  to  the  corner  and 
buy  an  apple." 

"  But  she  is  n't  there." 

"  Not  there  ?  That  's  uncommon.  Well," — pointing- 
back  over  his  shoulder  with  his  cleaver, — "go  down  the 
alley  here,  alongside  the  shop ;  steer  clear  of  old  Beppo  in 
his  kennel,  he  's  ugly  sometimes  ;  then  go  past  the  pig 
sties  and  the  skin-heaps,  and  cross  over  by  the  cattle-stalls  ; 


WONDERING   TOM 


129 
May- 


and  right  back  of  them,  a  little  beyond,  is  the  shed, 
be  she  's  lying  there  sick  ;  like  enough,  poor  thing ! " 

Little  Wisk  followed  the  directions,  as  she  picked  her 
way  carefully  through  the  great  bleak  cattle-yard,  think 
ing,  as  she  went,  that  killing  lambs  did  n't  always  make  a 
man  so  very  wicked,  after  all. 

Beaching  the  shed,  she  found  the  poor  old  apple- woman, 
moaning  and  bent  nearly  double  with  rheumatism. 


"'l   'M    SORRY   YOU    ARE    NOT   WELL,    GOODY,'    SAID   LITTLE   WISK." 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  are  not  well,  Goody,"  said  Little  Wisk. 
"  We  missed  you,  you  know.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

rt  Bless  your  bright  eyes  !  Did  you  come  to  see  poor  old 
Katy  ?  Ougti  ah-Ji  !  the  pain 's  killing  me,  child  !  Oh,  the 
Lord  save  us,  ougli  ah !  " 

9 


130  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  It  's  too  cold  and  damp  for  you  in  here,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Ah  yes,  it  is,  dearie  dear, — oiujli,  ouyli! — cold  and  wet 
enough ! " 

"  This  old  rusty  stove  would  be  nice  if  you  had  a  fire  in 
it,  Goody." 

"  Oh,  the  stove,  dearie !  The  good  gentleman  in  the 
shop  put  it  in  here  for  me  last  winter.  He  's  kept  me  in 
meat-scraps,  too.  Oh, —  oh, —  oh  !  (it  catches  me  that  way 
often,  child).  But,  alack  !  I  have  n't  a  chip  nor  a  shaving 
to  make  a  bit  of  fire.  Oh!  oh!  (the  worst  's  in  this  shoul 
der,  dearie,  and  'cross  the  back  and  into  this  'ere  knee). 
Yes,  cold  and  wet  enough,  so  it  is.  Aoucli!  No  use  s'arch- 
ing  out  there ;  you  won't  find  nothing.  Not  a  waste  splin 
ter  of  wood  left,  I  '11  be  bound,  after  my  raking  and  scrap 
ing  till  I  was  too  sick  to  stand  up." 

"  I  do  wish  I  had  money  to  buy  you  some,  Goody,"  said 
Wisk.  "  I  sha'n't  have  another  silver-piece  till  my  next 
birthday,  but  you  shall  have  that,  I  promise  you." 

"  Blessings  on  you  for  saying  it,  dearie ;  but  old  Katy 
is  n't  going  to  last  till  then.  What  with  cold  and  hunger 
(the  meat  on  the  nail  there  's  no  use,  you  see,  if  I  can't 
cook  it),  and  this  'ere  —  ouyh  —  ah!  —  this  'ere  dreadful 
rheumatiz,  I  can't  hold  out  much  longer." 

Suddenly  a  thought  came  to  Wisk. 

"  Oh,  Katy ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  off  she  ran,  past  the 
cattle-sheds,  the  skin-heaps,  the  pigsties,  the  dog-kennel, 
up  the  alley,  up  the  street,  and  round  the  corner  toward  the 
river  till  she  came  to  the  workshop  of  a  ship-carpenter. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  hurrying  in,  quite  out  of  breath,  and 
addressing  a  great  strong  boy  who  was  working  there, 
"  won't  you  give  me  some  shavings  and  chips  ? " 


WONDERING  TOM  131 

"  Certainly,"  said  Tom,  straightway  beginning  to  scrape 
together  a  big  pile.  "  What  shall  we  put  them  in  ? " 

"  Into  my  apron.  They  're  for  poor  Katy,  the  apple- 
woman.  She  lives  in  an  old  shed  in  Slorter's  cattle-yard. 
She  's  sick,  Tom,  and  she  has  n't  a  thing  to  make  a  fire 
with." 

"  Oh,  if  that  's  it,"  said  Tom,  "we  must  get  her  up  a 
cart-load  of  waste  stuff,  if  the  boss  is  willing." 

The  boss  spoke  up : 

"  Help  yourself,  Tom.  You  're  the  steadiest  lad  in  the 
shop,  and  you  Ve  never  asked  me  a  favor  before.  Help 
yourself.  Take  along  all  those  odds  and  ends  in  the  cor 
ner  yonder.  Chips  and  shavings  soon  burn  up." 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  said  Tom  ;  and  he  added  in 
a  lower  tone  to  Wisk,  "  I  '11  load  up  and  take  'em  'round 
to  her  as  soon  as  I  Ve  done  my  work.  You  can  carry  your 
apronful  now." 

Wisk  held  up  the  corners  of  her  apron  while  Tom  filled 
it,  laughing  to  see  how  she  lifted  her  pretty  chin  so  that  he 
might  pile  in  a  "good  lot,"  as  she  called  it. 

"  There  ! "  he  exclaimed  at  last,  "  that  's  as  much  as  you 
can  manage." 

"  Thank  you,  Tom.  Oh,  how  kind  you  are !  I  was  as 
sure  as  anything  that  you  'd  know  just  what  to  do.  Thank 
you  again,  Tom,"  and  she  started  at  once. 

"  Wisk ! " 

He  had  followed  her  to  the  door.  When  she  turned 
back,  in  answer  to  his  call,  he  tried  to  speak  to  her,  but 
coughed  instead. 

"  Did  you  want  me,  Tom  ? "  she  asked,  demurely. 

"  Yes,  Wisk.     I— I  wanted  to  say  that— that  I—" 


132  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Why,  what  a  cough  you  have,  Tom !  It  's  from  work 
ing  so  much  in  this  windy  shop.  Oh,  Tom,  I  Ve  just 
thought !  If  Katy  had  a  door  to  her  shed  and  a  bench 
with  a  back  to  it,  she  'd  be  so  comfortable ! " 

"  She  shall  have  both,"  said  Tom.  "  I  '11  do  it  this  very 
evening.  It  's  full  moon." 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  blessed  Tom  !    Good-by." 

"Wisk!" 

But  she  was  already  running  down  the  street.  Tom 
turned  back  slowly.  I  think  he  was  wondering,  though 
he  had  really  conquered  that  old  habit.  But  it  is  so  dif 
ficult,  sometimes,  to  say  just  what  we  feel  to  those  whom 
we  like  very  much  ! 

"  First  the  shavings,  then  the  chips,"  sang  Wisk's  happy 
heart,  as  she  hurried  along  ;  "  first  the  shavings,  and  then 
the  chips,  and  then  a  spark  from  old  Katy's  tinder-box, 
and  sha'n't  we  have  a  beautiful  blaze ! " 

That  night,  the  one-eyed  dog  in  the  butcher's  yard  had 
a  hard  time  of  it.  There  was  the  moon  to  be  barked  at ; 
the  pigs  to  be  barked  at ;  the  sheep,  the  oxen,  and  the 
lambs  to  be  barked  at  every  time  they  moved  in  their 
stalls.  The  skin-heap,  too,  required  a  constant  barking 
to  keep  it  from  stirring  while  the  rats  were  burrowing 
beneath.  And  then  there  was  the  strange  lad  to  be 
barked  at,  corning  in  twice,  as  he  did,  with  a  hand-nut 
heaped  high  with  chips,  shavings,  and  blocks,  and  again 
coming  back  with  planks,  hammer,  and  saw.  And  the 
sudden  smoke  from  the  sick  woman's  fire ;  ah,  how  it 
bothered  old  Beppo ! 

He  had  lived  long  in  the  yard,  and  remembered  well 


WONDERING   TOM  133 

how  the  high  chimney  had  stood  there  for  years  and 
years, —  all  that  was  left  of  a  burned-down  factory, — 
and  how  the  shed  had  been  built  up  around  it  as  if  to 
keep  it  from  tumbling.  For  months  past  it  had  been  a 
quiet,  well-behaved  chimney ;  but  now  to  see  smoke  rush 
ing  out  of  it  at  such  a  rate,  bound  straight  for  that  irri 
tating  moon,  was  really  too  much  to  stand.  So  Beppo 
barked  and  barked ;  and  Tom  hammered  and  hammered ; 
and  old  Katy,  warm  at  last,  curled  herself  up  in  the 
straw,  saying  over  and  over  again,  "  How  nice  it  will  be ! 
How  nice  it  will  be ! " 


YEARS  passed  on.  One  day,  the  King  and  his  court 
carne  riding  down  that  same  city  again.  Suddenly  his 
Majesty,  grown  older  now,  halted  before  a  boat-builder's 
shop,  and  asked: 

"  Who  is  that  busy  fellow,  yonder  ? " 

"Where,  your  most  prodigal  Majesty?"  asked  the  Prime 
Minister  in  return. 

"  In  the  shop.  Yesterday  this  same  young  fellow  and 
his  man  were  busy  out  on  the  docks.  He  works  with 
a  will,  that  fellow.  I  must  set  him  at  the  royal  ships." 

"  The  royal  ships  ! "  echoed  the  Prime  Minister,  "  your 
most  overwhelming  Majesty ;  why,  that  is  a  fortune  for 
any  man ! " 

"  I  know  it.  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  King.  "What  is  his 
name  ? " 

The  Prime  Minister  could  not  say.  And  again,  as  on 
that  day  long  before,  the  question  traveled  through  the 


134 


THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 


"'THOMAS  .REPDY,  YOUR  MAJESTY."' 


grandees  of  the  court,  until  it  readied  the  Chief-Cook-and- 
Bottle- Washer,  and  the  Chief-Cook-and-Bottle- Washer 
asked  a  pretty  young  woman  named  Wisk,  who  chanced  to 
be  coming  out  of  the  shop. 

"  He  's  a  master-builder,"  replied  Wisk,  blushing. 

"  But  what 's  his  name  ?"  repeated  the  Chief-Cook-and- 
Bottle- Washer. 

"He  used  to  be  called  Wondering  Tom,"  she  answered; 
"  but  now  we  all  call  him  by  his  real  name,  Thomas  Keddy." 


WONDERING   TOM  135 

"  Thomas  Eeddy  ! "  shouted  the  Chief-Cook-and-Bottle- 
Washer.  "  Thomas  Eeddy  ! "  cried  the  Eoyal  Eat- Catcher. 

And,  in  fact,  "  Thomas  Eeddy  ! "  was  called  so  often  and 
so  loudly  along  the  line  before  it  reached  the  only  officer 
who  could  venture  to  speak  to  the  King,  that  the  master- 
builder,  with  a  keen  eye  to  business,  threw  down  his  tools 
and  came  out  of  the  shop. 

"  Oli,  Tom !  Again  the  King  wishes  to  speak  with  you," 
said  Little  Wisk. 

They  took  each  other  by  the  hand,  and  together  walked 
toward  his  Majesty. 

"  Behold  ! "  said  the  King,  "  we  have  found  the  finest 
young  workman  in  our  realms !  Let  preparations  be 
made  at  once  for  proclaiming  him  Eoyal  Ship-Builder ! 
What  do  they  call  you,  young  man  ?  I  Ve  lost  the  name." 

"  Thomas  Eeddy,  your  Majesty,"  he  answered,  his  eye 
sparkling  with  grateful  joy. 

"  And  who  are  you,  iny  pretty  one  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  'in  his  wife,"  said  the  smiling  Wisk. 


LITTLE  VEMBA   BKOWN 


LITTLE    VHMUA    BROWN. 


LITTLE   YEMBA   BKOWN 

VEMBA  was  a  new  name  in  the  Brown  family ;  and, 
very  properly,  it  was  given  to  a  brand-new  girl, —  the 
sweetest,  prettiest  mite  of  a  girl,  in  fact,  that  ever  had 
come  to  join  the  Brown  household.  To  be  sure,  six  years 
before  this,  they  had  welcomed  a  Morris  Brown  nearly 
as  small  and  sweet  and  pretty,  and,  later  on,  a  Harris 
Brown,  who  began  life  as  a  baby  of  the  very  first  quality ; 
but  they,  both,  were  boys.  And  here  was  a  girl !  She 
was  so  new  that  she  did  not  know  Morris  and  Harris 
were  in  the  house.  Think  of  that !  And  if  she  had 
noticed  them,  she  would  not  have  had  the  slightest  idea 
who  they  were.  Dear  me  !  How  very  well  acquainted 
the  three  became  after  awhile !  But  at  first,  when  the 
little  girl  was  only  a  few  weeks  old,  she  was  still  quite 
a  stranger  to  the  boys,  and  had  no  other  name  than  Miss 
Brown ;  yet  she  had  the  air  of  owning  not  only  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Brown,  but  all  the  family,  and  the  very  house  they 
lived  in.  Why,  the  King  of  the  Cannibal  Islands  him 
self  could  not  have  made  her  change  countenance  unless 
she  chose  to  do  so. 

Well,  there  they  were, —  Morris  Brown,  aged  six  years, 

139 


140  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Harris  Brown,  aged  three,  and  Miss  Brown  of  hardly  any 
age  at  all.  These  were  the  Brown  children. 

"  Dear  me  !  a  bonny  little  lady  ! "  said  Uncle  Tom,  who 
had  come  all  the  way  from  Philadelphia  to  take  a  look  at 
the  haby. 

At  this  point  of  time,  as  he  gazed  at  her  through  his 
spectacles,  all  the  family  crowded  around  ;  the  boys,  proud 
and  happy,  stood  on  either  side  of  him  to  hear  what  his 
opinion  might  be. 

"A  bonny  little  lady,"  repeated  Uncle  Tom ;  "  and  now, 
Stephania,  what  are  you  going  to  call  her  ? " 

He  turned  so  suddenly  upon  Mrs.  Brown,  in  his  brisk 
way,  that  it  made  her  start. 

"  Dear  me  !  I — I — don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  Some 
novel,  pretty  name,  of  course ;  something  fanciful ;  but  we 
have  n't  settled  upon  one  yet." 

"Why  not  call  her  Stephania,  after  you  and  me?"  asked 
Grandmama,  brightly. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  sighed  Mrs.  Brown ;  "  I  'd  like  some 
thing  not  so  liorri — ,  I  mean,  something  more  fanciful 
than  that !  " 

"  Well,  I  declare ! "  exclaimed  Grandmama,  and  she 
closed  her  lips  as  if  resolved  never  to  say  another  word 
about  it. 

"  We  have  thought  of  Marjorie,"  remarked  Mr.  Brown, 
with  a  funny  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  and,  ahem !  two  or 
three  others, — Mabel,  for  instance,  and  Ida,  and  Irene, 
and  Clara,  and  Jean,  and  Olivia ;  Florence,  and  Francesca, 
too,  and  Lily ;  Alice,  and  Elinor,  and  Anita,  and  Jessie, 
and  Dora,  and  Isabel,  and  Bertha,  and  Louise,  and  Can- 


LITTLE    VEMBA   BROWN  141 

dace,  and  Alma;  but  Stephania  condemns  every  one  of 
them  as  too  plain  or  too  hackneyed.  The  fact  is,  all  the 
pretty  names  are  used  up." 

"You  might  name  her  Chestnut,"  said  Morris,  musingly. 
"  There  are  three  of  us,  and  three  is  an  awful  lot." 

Just  then  the  wind  howled  dismally ;  sere  and  yellow 
leaves  whirled  past  the  windows. 

"  Goodness,  what  weather  ! "  exclaimed  Grandmama. 
"Bleak  even  for  November — is  n't  it?" 

"  Here  's  sunshine,  though,"  murmured  Mrs.  Brown, 
cheerily.  "  You  're  a  'ittle  pessus  bit  of  booful  sunshine, 
so  you  is,  even  if  you  is  a  poor  'itty  'Vember  baby  ! "  and 
she  fell  to  kissing  Miss  Brown  in  the  most  rapturous 
manner. 

"  Ha  !  there  it  is  ! "  cried  Uncle  Tom.  "  Vemba  's  her 
name.  Her  mother  has  said  it.  Let  us  call  her  Vemba!" 

Every  one  laughed,  but  Uncle  Tom  was  in  earnest ;  be 
sides,  he  had  to  take  the  afternoon  train  back  to  Phila 
delphia, — and  you  know  how  they  always  rush  matters 
through  in  Philadelphia. 

"  It  's  a  good  name,  and  new,"  he  said,  nodding  his  head 
in  a  rotary  way  that  somehow  took  in  Mr.  Brown,  Mrs. 
Brown,  Grandma  Brown,  Morris  Brown,  Harris  Brown, 
and  Miss  Brown.  "  It  's  a  good  name.  Think  it  over. 
I  must  be  off!" 

"  Vemba,  from  November  ? "  cried  Grandma.  "  What  a 
bleak  name !  Do  you  want  the  poor  child  to  be  a  shadow 
011  the  house  ? "  and  the  dear  old  lady  nourished  her  knit 
ting  as  she  spoke. 

Whether  it  was  the  gleam  of  the  long  needles,  or  Uncle 


142  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Tom's  frantic  but  slow  way  of  putting  on  his  coat, —  of 
whether  Miss  Brown,  catching  Grandma  Brown's  words, 
had  suddenly  resolved  to  show  them  that  she  had  n't  the 
slightest  intention  in  the  world  of  being  a  shadow  on  the 
house,  I  do  not  know.  But  certain  it  is  she  smiled, — 
smiled  the  brightest,  sunniest  little  smile  you  can  imagine. 

All  the  family  were  delighted.  The  boys  shouted,  Papa 
laughed,  Mama  laughed,  Uncle  Tom  laughed,  and  Grandma 
exclaimed,  "  Well,  I  never  ! " 

"  She  's  answered  you,  Grandma  ! "  cried  Uncle  Tom, 
bending  down  with  only  one  sleeve  of  his  overcoat  on, — 
and  actually  kissing  the  baby, — "she  has  answered  you. 
Ha,  ha  !  No  clouds  about  her  ;  you  see  she  's  a  sunshine- 
girl.  Well,  good-by,  little  Vemba !  Good-by,  all,"  and  he 
was  out  of  the  room  and  on  his  way  to  the  train  before 
the  baby  had  time  to  blink. 

Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  the  more  they  thought 
about  the  new  name,  the  better  they  liked  it.  Besides, 
Morris  and  Harris,  who  adored  Uncle  Tom,  would  hear  of 
no  other.  Papa  declared  it  was  not  "  half  bad,"  and  even 
Mama  admitted  that  at  least  it  was  not  commonplace. 
Meanwhile,  the  baby  fell  into  a  pleasant  sleep. 

When  she  awoke  her  name  was  Vemba  Brown. 

That  was  five  years  ago,  this  November,  and  now  every 
one  says  that  of  all  the  sweet,  sunny,  bright  little  girls  in 
New  York,  Vemba  Brown  is  the  sunniest,  brightest,  and 
sweetest.  She  is  now  thoroughly  acquainted  with  Morris 
and  Harris ;  and  as  for  Uncle  Tom — well,  you  should 
have  heard  her  laugh  the  other  day  when  that  gentleman 
told  the  wee  maiden  that  bleak  November  would  soon 


LITTLE    VEMBA   BROWN 


143 


be  here,  and  then  everybody  would  shiver  and  sneeze  — 
go  I — aiid  you  should  have  seen  her  throw  her  arms  around 
his  neck  and  kiss  him  when  that  same  day  he  gave  her  a 
beautiful  new  walking-suit  and  a  soft  white  muff  to  keep 
her  little  hands  warm  ! 

And  oh,  you  should  have  seen,  besides,  what  the  little 
maid  found  waiting  for  her  when  she  went  down  to  break 
fast  on  that  happy  birthday !  A  gift  from  Mama,  and  an 
other  from  Papa.  One  of  the  gifts  was  very  quiet,  for  it 
held  a  secret ;  the  other  at  first  was  just  a  little  noisy,  and 
he  soon  told  Vemba  all  he  knew. 


WAITING    FOR    VEMBA  ! 


THE   CROW-CHILD 


10 


THE   CROW-CHILD 

MIDWAY  between  a  certain  blue  lake  and  a  deep  forest 
there  once  stood  a  cottage,  called  by  its  owner  "The 
Rookery." 

The  forest  shut  out  the  sunlight  and  scowled  upon  the 
ground,  breaking  with  shadows  every  ray  that  fell,  until 
only  a  few  little  pieces  lay  scattered  about.  But  the 
broad  lake  invited  all  the  rays  to  come  and  rest  upon  her, 
so  that  sometimes  she  shone  from  shore  to  shore,  and  the 
sun  winked  and  blinked  above  her,  as  though  dazzled  by 
his  own  reflection.  The  cottage,  which  was  very  small, 
had  sunny  windows  and  dark  windows.  Only  from  the 
roof  could  you  see  the  mountains  beyond,  where  the  light 
crept  up  in  the  morning  and  down  in  the  evening,  turning 
all  the  brooks  into  living  silver  as  it  passed. 

But  something  brighter  than  sunshine  used  often  to 
look  from  the  cottage  into  the  forest,  and  something  even 
more  gloomy  than  shadows  often  glowered  from  its  win 
dows  upon  the  sunny  lake.  One  was  the  face  of  little 
Euky  Lynn ;  and  the  other  was  his  sister's  when  she 
felt  angry  or  ill-tempered. 

They  were  orphans,  Cora  and  Euky,  living  alone  in  the 
cottage  with  an  old  uncle.  Cora  —  or  "Cor,"  as  Ruky 

147 


148  THE  LAND   OF  PLUGK 

called  her  —  was  nearly  sixteen  years  old,  but  her  brother 
had  seen  the  forest  turn  yellow  only  four  times.  She  was, 
therefore,  almost  mother  and  sister  in  one.  The  little  fel 
low  was  her  companion  night  and  day.  Together  they  ate 
and  slept,  and  —  when  Cora  was  not  at  work  in  the  cot 
tage  —  together  they  rambled  in  the  wood,  or  floated  in 
their  little  skiff  upon  the  lake. 

Itiiky  had  bright,  dark  eyes,  and  the  glossy  blackness  of 
his  hair  made  his  cheeks  look  even  rosier  than  they  were. 
He  had  funny  ways  for  a  boy,  Cora  thought.  The  quick, 
bird-like  jerks  of  his  raven-black  head,  his  stately  baby 
gait,  and  his  habit  of  pecking  at  his  food,  as  she  called  it, 
often  made  his  sister  laugh.  Young  as  he  was,  the  little 
fellow  had  learned  to  mount  to  the  top  of  a  low-branching 
tree  near  the  cottage,  though  he  could  not  always  get  down 
alone.  Sometimes  when,  perched  in  the  thick  foliage,  he 
would  scream,  "  Cor  !  Cor !  Come,  help  me  down  !  "  his 
sister  would  answer,  as  she  ran  out  laughing,  "  Yes,  little 
Crow !  I  'in  coming." 

Perhaps  it  was  because  he  reminded  her  of  a  crow  that 
Cora  called  him  her  little  bird.  This  was  when  she  was 
good-natured  and  willing  to  let  him  see  how  much  she 
loved  him.  But  in  her  cloudy  moments,  as  the  uncle 
called  them,  Cora  was  another  girl.  Everything  seemed 
ugly  to  her,  or  out  of  tune.  Even  Euky  was  a  trial ;  and, 
instead  of  giving  him  a  kind  word,  she  would  scold  and 
grumble  until  he  would  steal  from  the  cottage  door,  and, 
jumping  lightly  from  the  door-step,  seek  the  shelter  of  his 
tree.  Once  safely  perched  among  its  branches  he  knew 
she  would  finish  her  work,  forget  her  ill-humor,  and  be 


THE  CROW-CHILD  149 

quite  ready,  when  he  cried  "  Cor  !  Cor ! "  to  come  from 
the  cottage  with  a  cheery,  "  Yes,  little  Crow  !  I  'in  coin- 
in  2  !  I  'm  cominsj ! " 

O  o 

No  one  could  help  loving  Kuky,  with  his  quick,  affec 
tionate  ways;  and  it  seemed  that  Ruky,  in  turn,  could 
not  help  loving  every  person  and  thing  around  him.  He 
loved  his  silent  old  uncle,  the  bright  lake,  the  cool  forest, 


THE    HOME    OF    CORA    AND    RUKY. 


and  even  his  little  china  cup  with  red  berries  painted  upon 
it.  But  more  than  all,  Ruky  loved  his  golden-haired  sis 
ter,  and  the  great  dog,  who  would  plunge  into  the  lake  at 
the  mere  pointing  of  his  chubby  little  finger.  In  fact,  that 
finger  and  the  commanding  baby  voice  were  "  law  "  to  Nep 
at  any  time. 

Nep  and  Ruky  often  talked  together,  and  though  one 
used  barks  and  the  other  words,  there  was  a  perfect  under 
standing  between  them.  Woe  to  the  straggler  that  dared 
to  rouse  Nep's  wrath,  and  woe  to  the  bird  or  rabbit  that  ven 
tured  too  near ! — those  great  teeth  snapped  at  their  prey 

10" 


150  THE  LAND    OF  PLUCK 

without  even  the  warning  of  a  growl.  But  Euky  could 
safely  pull  Nep's  ears  or  his  tail,  or  climb  his  great  shaggy 
back,  or  even  snatch  away  the  untasted  bone.  Still,  as  I 
said  before,  every  one  loved  the  child;  so,  of  course,  Nep 
was  no  exception. 

One  day  Euky's  "Cor!  Cor!"  had  sounded  oftener  than 
usual.  His  rosy  face  had  bent  saucily  to  kiss  Cora's  up 
turned  forehead,  as  she  raised  her  arms  to  lift  him  from  the 
tree;  but  the  sparkle  in  his  dark  eyes  had  seemed  to  kindle 
so  much  mischief  in  him  that  his  sister's  patience  became 
fairly  exhausted. 

"  Has  Cor  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  upon  you?  "  she  cried, 
"  and  nothing  to  listen  to  but  your  noise  and  your  racket  ? 
You  shall  go  to  bed  early  to-day,  and  then  I  shall  have 
some  peace." 

"No,  no,  Cor.  Please  let  Euky  wait  till  the  stars  come. 
Euky  wants  to  see  the  stars." 

"  Hush  !     Euky  is  bad.    He  shall  have  a  whipping  when 
Uncle  comes  back  from  town." 
Nep  growled. 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! "  laughed  Euky,  jerking  his  head  saucily  from 
side  to  side ;  "  Nep  says  ' No  ! '" 

Nep  was  shut  out  of  the  cottage  for  his  pains,  and  poor 
Euky  was  undressed,  with  many  a  hasty  jerk  and  pull. 

"  You  hurt,  Cor  ! "  he  said,  plaintively.  "  I  'm  going  to 
take  off  my  shoes  my  own  self." 

"  No,  you  're  not,"  cried  Cora,  almost  shaking  him ;  and 
when  he  cried  she  called  him  naughty,  and  said  if  he  did 
not  stop  he  should  have  no  supper.  This  made  him  cry  all 
the  more,  and  Cora,  feeling  in  her  angry  mood  that  lie 
deserved  severe  punishment,  threw  away  his  supper  and 


THE  CROW-CHILD  151 

put  him  to  bed.  Then  all  that  could  be  heard  were  Euky's 
low  sobs  and  the  snappish  clicks  of  Cora's  needles,  as  she 
sat  knitting,  with  her  back  to  him. 

He  could  not  sleep,  for  his  eyelids  were  scalded  with 
tears,  and  his  plaintive  "Cor!  Cor  ! "  had  reached  his  sister's 
ears  in  vain.  She  never  once  looked  up  from  those  gleam 
ing  knitting-needles,  nor  even  gave  him  his  good-night 
kiss. 

It  crew  late.     The  uncle  did  not  return.      At  last  Cora, 

o 

sulky  and  weary,  locked  the  cottage  door,  blew  out  her 
candle,  and  lay  down  beside  her  brother. 

The  poor  little  fellow  tried  to  win  a  forgiving  word,  but 
she  was  too  ill-natured  to  grant  it.  In  vain  he  whispered, 
"  Cor,  Cor ! "  He  even  touched  her  hand  over  and  ever 
again  with  his  lips,  hoping  she  would  turn  toward  him, 
and,  with  a  loving  kiss,  murmur,  as  usual,  "  Good  night, 
little  bird." 

Instead  of  this,  she  jerked  her  arm  angrily  away,  saying: 

"  Oh,  stop  your  pecking  and  go  to  sleep !  I  wish  you 
were  a  crow  in  earnest,  and  then  I  'd  have  some  peace." 

After  this,  Euky  was  silent.  His  heart  drooped  within 
him  as  he  wondered  what  this  "  peace  "  was  that  his  sister 
wished  for  so  often,  and  why  he  must  go  away  before  it 
could  come  to  her. 

Soon,  Cora,  who  had  rejoiced  in  the  sudden  calm,  heard 
a  strange  fluttering.  In  an  instant  she  saw  by  the  starlight 
a  dark  object  circle  once  or  twice  in  the  air  above  her,  then 
dart  suddenly  through  the  open  window. 

Astonished  that  Euky  had  not  shouted  with  delight 
at  the  strange  visitor,  or  else  clung  to  her  neck  in  fear, 
she  turned  to  see  if  he  had  fallen  asleep. 


152  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

No  wonder  that  she  started  up,  horror-stricken, — Euky 
was  not  there  ! 

His  empty  place  was  still  warm ;  perhaps  he  had  slid 
softly  from  the  bed.  With  trembling  haste  she  lighted  the 
candle,  and  peered  into  every  corner.  The  boy  was  not  to 
be  found ! 

Then  those  fearful  words  rang  in  her  ears : 

"I  wish  you  were  a  crow  in  earnest  !  " 

Cora  rushed  to  the  door,  and,  with  straining  gaze,  looked 
out  into  the  still  night. 

"  Euky  !  Euky  ! "  she  screamed. 

There  was  a  slight  stir  in  the  low-growing  tree. 

"  Euky,  darling,  come  back  ! " 

"  Caw,  caw ! "  answered  a  harsh  voice  from  the  tree. 
Something  black  seemed  to  spin  out  of  it,  and  then,  in 
great  sweeping  circles,  sailed  upward,  until  finally  it  settled 
upon  one  of  the  loftiest  trees  in  the  forest. 

"  Caw,  caw  ! "  it  screamed,  fiercely. 

The  girl  shuddered,  but,  with  outstretched  arms,  cried 
out : 

"  Oh,  Euky,  if  it  is  you,  come  back  to  poor  Cor ! " 

"  Caw,  caw ! "  mocked  hundreds  of  voices,  as  a  shadow 
like  a  thunder-cloud  rose  in  the  air.  It  was  an  immense 
flock  of  crows.  She  could  distinguish  them  plainly  in  the 
starlight,  circling  higher  and  higher,  then  lower  and  lower, 
until,  with  their  harsh  "  Caw,  caw ! "  they  sailed  far  off 
into  the  night. 

"  Oh,  Euky,  answer  me  ! "  she  cried. 

Nep  growled,  the  forest  trees  whispered  softly  together, 
and  the  lake,  twinkling  with  stars,  sang  a  lullaby  as  it  lifted 


THE   CROW-CHILD  153 

its  weary  little  waves  upon  the  shore:  there  was  no  other 
sound. 

It  seemed  that  daylight  never  would  come ;  but  at  last 
the  trees  turned  slowly  from  black  to  green,  and  the  lake 
put  out  its  stars,  one  by  one,  and  waited  for  the  new  day. 

Cora,  who  had  been  wandering  restlessly  in  every  direc 
tion,  now  went  weeping  into  the  cottage.  "  Poor  boy  ! "  she 
sobbed ;  "  he  had  no  supper."  Then  she  scattered  bread- 
crurnbs  near  the  doorway,  hoping  that  Euky  would  come 
for  them;  but  only  a  few  timid  little  songsters  hovered 
about,  and,  while  Cora  wept,  picked  up  the  food  daintily, 
as  though  it  burned  their  bills.  When  she  reached  forth 
her  hand,  though  there  were  no  crows  among  them,  and 
called  "  Euky !  Euky ! "  they  scattered  and  flew  away  in 
an  instant. 

Next  she  went  to  the  steep-roofed  barn,  and,  bringing 
out  an  apronful  of  grain,  scattered  it  all  around  his  favorite 
tree.  Before  long,  to  her  great  joy,  a  flock  of  crows  came 
by.  They  spied  the  grain,  and  soon  were  busily  picking  it 
up  with  their  short,  feathered  bills.  One  even  came  near 
the  mound  where  she  sat.  Unable  to  restrain  herself 
longer,  she  fell  upon  her  knees  with  an  imploring  cry : 

"  Oh,  Euky  !  is  this  you  ? " 

Instantly  the  entire  flock  set  up  an  angry  "  caw,"  and, 
surrounding  the  crow,  who  was  hopping  closer  and  closer  to 
Cora,  hurried  him  off,  until  they  all  looked  like  mere  specks 
against  the  summer  sky. 

Every  day,  rain  or  shine,  she  scattered  the  grain,  tremb 
ling  with  dread  lest  Nep  should  leap  among  the  hungry 
crows,  and  perhaps  kill  her  "  little  bird  "  first.  But  Nep 


154 


THE   LAND    OF  PLUCK 


"'OH,  RUKY!   is  THIS  YOU?'" 


knew  better ;  lie  never  stirred  when  the  noisy  crowd  set 
tled  around  the  cottage,  excepting  once,  when  one  of  them 
pounced  upon  his  back.  Then  he  started  up,  wagging  his 
tail,  and  barking  with  uproarious  delight.  The  crow  flew 
off  in  a  flutter,  and  did  not  venture  near  him  again. 


THE  CROW-CHILD  155 

Poor  Cora  felt  sure  that  this  could  be  no  other  than 
Kuky.  Oh,  if  she  only  could  have  caught  him  then  !  Per 
haps  with  kisses  and  prayers  she  might  have  won  him  back 
to  Kuky's  shape ;  but  now  the  chance  was  lost. 

There  was  no  one  to  help  her ;  for  the  nearest  neighbor 
dwelt  miles  away,  and  her  uncle  had  not  yet  returned. 

After  awhile  she  remembered  the  little  cup,  and,  filling 
it  with  grain,  stood  it  upon  a  grassy  mound.  When  the 
crows  came,  they  fought  and  struggled  for  its  contents 
with  many  an  angry  cry.  One  of  them  made  no  effort  to 
seize  the  grain.  He  was  content  to  peck  at  the  berries 
painted  upon  its  sides,  as  he  hopped  joyfully  around  it 
again  and  again.  Nep  lay  very  quiet.  Only  the  tip  of  his 
tail  twitched  with  an  eager,  wistful  motion.  But  Cora 
sprang  joyfully  toward  the  bird. 

"It  is  Kuky !"  she  cried,  striving  to  catch  it. 

Alas  !  the  cup  lay  shattered  beneath  her  hand,  as,  with  a 
taunting  "  caw,  caw,"  the  crow  joined  its  fellows  and  flew 
away. 

Next,  gunners  came.  They  were  looking  for  other  birds; 
but  they  hated  the  crows,  Cora  knew,  and  she  trembled 
for  Kuky.  She  heard  the  sharp  crack  of  fowling-pieces 
in  the  forest,  and  shuddered  whenever  Nep,  pricking  up 
his  ears,  darted  with  an  angry  howl  in  the  direction  of 
the  sound.  She  knew,  too,  that  her  uncle  had  set  traps 
for  the  crows,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  whole  world 
was  against  the  poor  birds,  plotting  their  destruction. 

Time  new  by.  The  leaves  seemed  to  flash  into  bright 
colors  and  fall  off  almost  in  a  day.  Frost  and  snow  came. 
Still  the  uncle  had  not  returned,  or,  if  he  had,  she  did  not 


THE   CROW-CHILD  157 

know  it.  Her  brain  was  bewildered.  She  knew  not 
^whether  she  ate  or  slept.  Only  the  terrible  tiring  reached 
her  ears,  or  that  living  black  cloud  came  and  went  with  its 
ceaseless  "  caw." 

At  last,  during  a  terrible  night  of  wind  and  storm,  Cora 
felt  that  she  must  go  forth  and  seek  her  poor  bird. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  freezing — dying  ! "  she  cried,  springing 
frantically  from  the  bed,  and  casting  her  long  cloak  over 
her  night-dress. 

In  a  moment,  she  was  trudging  barefooted  through  the 
snow.  It  was  so  deep  she  could  hardly  walk,  and  the  sleet 
was  driving  into  her  face ;  still  she  kept  on,  though  her 
numbed  feet  seemed  hardly  to  belong  to  her.  All  the  way 
she  was  praying  in  her  heart ;  promising  never,  never  to 
be  passionate  again,  if  she  only  could  find  her  bird  —  not 
Piuky  the  boy,  but  whatever  he  might  be.  She  was  will 
ing  to  accept  her  punishment.  Soon  a  faint  cry  reached 
her  ear.  With  eager  haste,  she  peered  into  every  fold  of 
the  drifted  snow.  A  black  object  caught  her  eye.  It  was 
a  poor  storm-beaten  crow,  lying  there  benumbed  and  stiff. 

For  Ruky's  sake  she  folded  it  closely  to  her  bosom,  and 
plodded  back  to  the  cottage.  The  fire  cast  a  rosy  light  on 
its  glossy  wing  as  she  entered,  but  the  poor  thing  did  not 
stir.  Softly  stroking  and  warming  it,  she  wrapped  the 
frozen  bird  in  soft  flannel  and  blew  into  its  open  mouth. 
Soon,  to  her  great  relief,  it  revived,  and  even  swallowed  a 
few  grains  of  wheat. 

Cold  and  weary,  she  cast  herself  upon  the  bed,  still  fold 
ing  the  bird  to  her  heart.  "It  may  be  Euky !  It  is  all  I 
ask,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  dare  not  ask  for  more." 


158 


THE   LAND    OF  PLUCK 


"JUST    TWO     HOURS." 

Suddenly  she  felt  a  peculiar  stirring.  The  crow  seemed 
to  grow  larger.  Then,  in  the  dim  light,  she  felt  its  feathers 
pressing  lightly  against  her  cheek.  Next,  something  soft 
and  warm  wound  itself  tenderly  about  her  neck,  and  she 
heard  a  sweet  voice  saying : 

"Don't  cry,  Cor,— I  '11  be  good." 


THE   CROW-CHILll 


159 


She  started  up.  It  was,  indeed,  her  own  darling !  The 
starlight  shone  into  the  room.  Lighting  her  candle,  she 
looked  at  the  clock. 

It  was  just  two  hours  since  she  had  uttered  those  cruel 
words  !  Sobbing,  she  asked  : 

"  Have  I  been  asleep,  Kuky,  dear  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  Cor.  Do  people  cry  when  they  're 
asleep  ? " 

"  Sometimes,  Kuky,"  clasping  him  very  close. 

"  Then  you  have  been  asleep.  But  Cor,  please  don't  let 
Uncle  whip  Kuky." 

"  No,  no,  my  little  bird — I  mean,  my  brother.  Good 
night,  darling  ! " 

"  Good  night." 


TRAPPEK   JOE 


TRAPPER  JOE  STOOD  ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  TIMBER-LAND  LISTENING 
TO   "HE  L-ID  N'T  KNOW  WHAT."     (PAGE  173.) 


TEAPPEE   JOE 

How  strange  it  all  seemed  to  little  Winifred  !      One 

O 

year  ago,  or,  as  she  reckoned  it,  one  snow-time  and  one 
flower-time  ago,  she  was  living  in  Boston,  and  now  she 
was  in  the  wilds  of  Colorado.  It  was  a  great  change  — 
this  going  from  comfort  and  luxury  to  a  place  where  com 
fort  was  hard  to  find,  and  luxury  not  to  be  thought  of ; 
where  they  had  a  log-hut  instead  of  a  house,  and  a  pig  in 
place  of  a  poodle.  But,  on  the  whole,  she  enjoyed  it.  Her 
father  was  better,  and  that  was  what  they  came  for.  The 
doctor  had  said  Colorado  air  would  cure  him.  And,  though 
her  young  Mother  often  looked  tired  and  troubled,  she 
certainly  never  used  to  break  forth  into  happy  bits  of  song 
when  Father  was  ill  in  bed,  as  she  did  now  that  he  was 
able  to  help  cut  down  trees  in  the  forest.  Besides,  who 
ever  saw  in  Boston  such  beautiful  blue  flowers  and  such 
flaming  red  blossoms  ?  And  what  was  the  frog-pond  com 
pared  with  these  streams  that  now,  in  the  springtime, 
came  rushing  through  the  woods — silently  sometimes,  and 
sometimes  so  noisily  that,  if  it  were  not  for  their  sparkle 
when  they  passed  the  open,  sunny  places,  and  the  playful 

103 


164  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

way  they  had  of  running  into  every  chink  along  the  banks, 
one  would  think  they  were  angry  ?  Yes,  on  the  whole, 
Winifred  liked  Colorado  ;  and  so  did  her  little  brother  Nat ; 
though,  if  you  had  told  him  Boston  was  just  around  the 
corner,  he  would  have  started  to  run  there  without  wai(hg 
to  put  on  his  cap. 

A  little  mite  of  a  fellow  -Nat  was,  full  of  good  nature 
and  sunshine.  Although  he  thought  himself  quite  a  big 
boy,  as  he  strutted  about  in  his  home-made  jacket  and 
trousers,  one  thing  could  sorely  trouble  him  —  and  that 
was  to  be  away  from  Mother,  even  for  an  hour.  There 
was  something  in  Mother's  way  of  singing,  Mother's  way 
of  kissing  hurt  little  heads  and  fingers,  Mother's  way  of 
sprinkling  sugar  upon  bread,  and  Mother's  way  of  rock 
ing  tired  little  boys,  that  Nat  approved  of  most  heartily. 
He  loved  his  father,  too,  and  thought  him  the  most  power 
ful  woodcutter  that  ever  swung  an  ax,  though  really  the 
poor  man  had  to  stop  and  rest  at  nearly  every  stroke. 

See  these  two  children  now  trudging  toward  the  shal 
low  bend  of  the  little  river  near  by,  quite  intent  upon  the 
launching  and  sailing  of  a  tiny  sloop  that  Father  had  made 
for  Nat  on  the  evening  before,  warranting  only  that  she 
would  float.  This  she  did,  and  reared  her  one  sail  most 
gallantly.  But  alas  !  inspired  by  the  current  she  sailed  too 
well.  It  required  the  restraining  efforts  of  both  children 
to  keep  her  near  shore;  and  when  at  last  Winnie  remarked 
in  cold  scorn  that  she  did  n't  see  much  fun  in  sailing  a 
boat  that  had  to  be  pulled  back  all  the  time,  Nat  and  she 
promptly  decided  to  try  some  other  kind  of  sport. 

Father's  big  rowboat  was  moored  close  by,  and  why  not 


TRAPPER  JOE 


165 


get  into  it  and  set  it  a-rocking  ?  Father  and  Mother  both 
had  laughed  the  other  day  to  see  them  do  this  —  so  of 
course  there  could  be  no  harm  in  it. 

But  when  they  had  climbed  into  the  rowboat  they  found 
it  too  hot  and  sunny.     At  least  Winnie  said  it  was  so. 


"NOT    MUCH     FUN    IN     SAILING    A    BOAT    THAT     HAD    TO    BE     PULLED    BACK 
ALL     THE     TIME." 

"Let  's  try  the  canoe,"  she  added,  in  a  sprightly  way. 
"  I  'm  sure  Papa  would  let  us  just  sit  in  it." 

"  Course  he  would,"  responded  Nat,  promptly  beginning 
to  climb  out  of  the  boat  as  he  spoke. 

The  canoe  was  tied  to  a  stake  a  little  farther  downstream, 
where  the  river  grew  narrow,  and  the  current  was  much 
stronger.  It  was  made  of  bark,  and  was  pointed  at  both 
ends.  Now  that  the  stream  was  swollen  and  flowing  fast, 
it  was  fine  fun  to  sit  together  in  the  middle  and  "get 
bounced  about/'  as  Winnie  said. 


166  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  You  get  in  first,  because  you  're  the  littlest,"  said  Win 
nie,  holding  her  dress  tightly  away  from  the  plashing  wa 
ter  with  one  hand,  and  pulling  the  boat  close  to  the  shore 
with  the  other. 

"  No,  you  get  in  first,  'cause  you  'm  a  girl,"  said  Nat.  "  I 
don't  want  any  helpin'.  I  'm  going  to  take  off  my  toos  and 
'tockies  first,  'cause  Mama  said  I  might." 

Nat  could  say  "  shoes  and  stockings "  quite  plainly 
when  he  chose,  but  everybody  said  "  toos  and  'tockies " 
to  him ;  so  he  looked  upon  these  words,  and  many  other 
crooked  ones,  as  a  sort  of  language  of  Nat,  which  all  the 
\vorld  would  speak  if  they  only  knew  how. 

In  at  last, —  both  of  them, —  and  a  fine  rocking  they 
had.  The  bushes  and  trees  threw  cool  shadows  over  the 
canoe,  and  the  birds  sang,  and  the  blue  sky  peeped  down 
at  them  through  little  openings  overhead,  and,  altogether, 
with  the  plashing  water  and  the  birds  and  pleasant  murmur 
of  insects,  it  was  almost  like  Mother's  rocking  and  singing. 

At  first  they  talked  and  laughed  softly.  Then  they  lis 
tened.  Then  they  talked  a  very  little ;  then  they  listened 
again,  lying  on  the  rushes  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe. 
Then  they  ceased  talking,  and  watched  the  branches  wav 
ing  overhead ;  and,  at  last,  they  both  fell  sound  asleep. 

This  was  early  in  the  forenoon.  Mother  was  very  busy 
in  the  cabin,  sweeping  the  room,  making  the  beds,  heating 
the  oven,  and  doing  a  dozen  other  things.  At  last  she  took 
a  plate  of  crumbs,  and  went  out  to  feed  the  chickens. 

"  Winnie !  Nat ! "  she  called,  as  she  stepped  out  upon 
the  clean,  rough  door-stone.  "  Come,  feed  the  chickens  ! " 


TRAPPER   JOE 


167 


1 


Then  she  added,  in  a  surprised  way,  to  herself :  "  Why, 
where  in  the  world  can  those  children  be?  They  must 
have  stopped  at  the  new  clearing  to  see  their  father." 

At  dinner-time,  she  blew  the  big  tin  horn  that  hung  by 
the  door,  and  soon  her  hus 
band  came  home  alone,  hun 
gry  and  tired. 

"Oh,  you  little  witches!" 
laughed  the  mother,  without 
looking  up  from  her  task  of 
bread-cutting.  "How  could 
you  stay  away  so  long  from 
Mama?  Tired,  Frank?" 

"  Yes,  very.  But  what  do 
you  mean  ?  Where  are  the 
youngsters  ? " 

She  looked  up  now,  ex 
claiming  in  a  frightened  voice, 
as  she  ran  out  past  her  hus 
band  :  "  Oh,  Frank  !  I  Ve  not 
seen  them  for  two  or  three 
hours.  I  thought  they  were 
with  you.  They  surely  would 
n't  have  played  all  this  time  with  the  little  sloop ! " 

The  father,  who  was  indeed  very  weary,  and  not  at  all 
alarmed,  sat  quietly  awaiting  her  return.  But  when,  in  a 
few  moments,  she  rushed  in  screaming :  "  Oh,  Frank ! 
Frank !  the  canoe  is  gone ! "  he  sprang  up,  and  together 
they  ran  toward  the  stream. 


FRANK 

CANOE  is  GONE!" 


168  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

All  that  long,  terrible  day,  and  the  next,  they  searched. 
They  followed  the  stream,  and  at  last  found  the  canoe  — 
but  it  was  empty !  In  vain  the  father  and  mother  and 
their  only  neighbor  wandered  through  the  forest  in  every 
direction,  calling :  "  Winnie  !  Winnie  !  Nat !  Nat ! "  In 
vain  the  father  and  the  neighbor  took  their  boats  and 
explored  the  stream  for  miles  and  miles  —  no  trace  could 
be  found  of  the  poor  little  creatures  who,  full  of  life  and 
joy,  had  so  lately  jumped  into  their  father's  canoe  to  "  be 
bounced  about." 

Where  were  they  ?  Alas !  they  themselves  did  not 
know.  They  only  knew  that  they  had  been  wakened  sud 
denly  by  a  great  thump,  and  that  when  they  sprang  out 
of  the  canoe,  and  started  to  go  home,  everything  was  dif 
ferent.  There  was  no  foot-path,  no  clearing  where  trees  had 
been  cut  down,  no  sound  of  Father's  ax  near  by,  nor  of 
Mother's  song  —  and  the  stream  was  rushing  on  very  an 
grily  over  its  sandy  bed.  The  canoe,  which  had  broken 
loose  and,  borne  on  by  the  current,  had  drifted  away  with 
them  nearly  three  miles  from  the  stake,  was  wedged  be 
tween  two  great  stones  when  they  jumped  out  of  it ;  but 
now  it  was  gone — the  waters  had  taken  it  away.  After  a 
while,  in  their  distracted  wanderings,  they  could  not  even 
find  the  stream,  though  it  seemed  to  be  roaring  in  every 
direction  around  them. 

Now  they  were  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  wandering 
about,  tired,  hungry  and  frightened.  That  night  they  cried 
themselves  to  sleep  in  each  other's  arms  under  the  black 
trees  ;  and,  as  the  wind  moaned  through  the  branches, 
Winnie  had  prayed  God  to  save  them  from  the  wolves, 


TRAPPER  JOE 


169 


and  little  Nat  had  screamed,  "  Papa  !  Mama  ! "  sobbing  as 
if  his  heart  would  break. 

In  the  morning  all  they  could  find  to  eat  was  a  few 
sweet  red  berries  that  grew  close  to  the  ground. 

Every  hour  the  poor  children  grew  fainter,  and,  at  last, 
Nat  could  n't  walk  at  all. 

"  I  'm  too  tired  and  sick,"  he  said,  "  and  my  feets  all  tut. 
My  toos  and  'tockies  is  in  the  boat. 
0  Winnie  !  Winnie  ! "  he  would 
cry,  with  a  great  sob,  "  why  don't 
Mama  'n'  Papa  come  ?  Oh,  if 
Mama  'd  only  come  and  bring  us 
some  bread ! " 

"  Don't  cry,  dear  —  don't  cry," 
Winnie  would  say  over  and  over 
again.  "  I  '11  find  some  more  red 
berries  soon ;  and  God  will  show 
us  the  way  home.  I  knoiv  he  will. 
Only  don't  cry,  Nat,  because  it 
takes  away  all  my  courage." 

"What?"  asked  Nat,  looking 
wildly  at  her  as  if  he  thought  cour 
age  was  something  they  could  eat. 


170  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"All  my  courage,  Nat."  And  then,  after  searching  in 
vain  for  more  red  berries,  she  would  moan :  "  Dear  Father 
in  Heaven,  I  can't  find  anything  more  for  Nat  to  eat. 
Oh,  please  show  us  the  way  home  ! " 

Often  she  would  tie  her  handkerchief  high  upon  some 
sapling,  and,  charging  Nat  on  no  account  to  "  move  a  single 
inch,  dear,"  she  would  place  him  down  by  the  tree,  and 
then  press  through  the  thicket  and  stumble  over  fallen 
boughs  in  the  vain  hope  of  spying  a  foot-path  or  at  least 
the  gleam  of  the  noisy  stream.  Never  once,  however,  did 
she  lose  sight  of  the  handkerchief  that  hung  limp  and 
spiritless  above  Nat's  head. 

In  vain.  There  was  no  path ;  only  the  wilderness  and 
the  growing  darkness  in  every  direction ;  not  a  berry  any 
where.  Eeturmng  to  her  brother,  and  stroking  his  restless 
little  hands  and  whispering  cheery  words,  she  would  sink 
to  the  ground,  and  sob,  in  spite  of  herself. 

What  was  that  quick  sound  coming  toward  them  ?  The 
underbrush  was  so  thick  Winnie  could  not  see  what  caused 
it,  but  she  held  her  breath  in  terror,  thinking  of  wolves 
and  Indians,  for  there  were  many  of  both,  she  knew,  lurk 
ing  about  in  these  great  forests. 

The  sound  ceased  for  a  moment.  Seizing  Nat  in  her 
arms,  she  made  one  more  frantic  effort  to  find  her  way  to  the 
stream,  then,  seeing  a  strange  look  in  the  poor  little  face 
when  she  put  him  down  to  take  a  firmer  hold,  she  screamed : 

"  Nat !    Nat !    Don't  look  so  !    Speak  to  Winnie  ! " 

"  Hello,  there  • "  shouted  a  voice  through  the  under 
brush,  and  in  another  instant  a  tall,  keen-faced  man  came 
stamping  and  breaking  his  way  through  the  bushes. 


TRAPPER  JOE  171 

"  Hello,  there  !  What  on  airth  's  up  now  ?  Ef  old  Joe 
hain't  come  upon  queer  game  this  time.  Two  sick  young 
sters  —  an'  ef  they  ain't  a-starving !  Here,  you  young  uns, 
eat  some  uv  this  'ere,  and  give  an  account  uv  yourselves." 

With  these  words,  he  drew  from  a  leather  pouch  at  his 
side,  a  couple  of  crackers. 

The  children  clutched  at  them  frantically. 

"  Hold  up  !  Not  so  sharp  ! "  he  said  ;  "  you  must  have  a 
little  at  a  time  for  an  hour  yet.  Here,  sis,  give  me  the 
little  one  —  I  '11  feed  him ;  and  as  for  you,  jest  see  that 
you  don't  more  'n  nibble  ! " 

"  Oh,  give  me  a  drink  ! "  cried  Winnie,  swallowing  the 
cracker  in  two  bites,  and  for  an  instant  even  forgetting 
Nat. 

The  man  pulled  a  canteen  or  flat  thin  flask  from  his  belt 
and  gave  her  a  swallow  of  water;  then  he  hastened  to 
moisten  Nat's  lips  and  feed  him  crumb  after  crumb  of 
the  broken  cracker. 

"Another  day,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  gently  fed 
the  boy  and  smoothed  back  the  tangled  yellow  hair  from 
the  pale  little  face, — "  another  day,  and  he  'd  'a'  been  past 
mendin'." 

Winnie  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Is  he  going  to  die  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Not  he,"  said  the  man  ;  "  he  '11  come  through  right  end 
up  yet.  He  's  got  a  fever  on  him,  but  we  '11  soon  knock 
that  under.  How  'd  you  get  here,  little  gal  ? " 

Winnie  told  her  story,  all  the  while  feeling  a  glad  cer 
tainty  at  her  heart  that  their  troubles  were  over. 

The  strange  man  carried  a  gun,  and  he  had  a  big  pistol, 


172 


THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 


and  a  knife  at  the  back  of  his  belt.  He  looked  very  fierce, 
too,  yet  she  knew  he  would  not  harm  her.  She  had  seen 
many  a  trapper  since  she  had  come  to  the  West,  and,  be 
sides,  she  felt  almost  sure  he  was  the  very  trapper  who  had 
been  at  her  father's  cabin  a  few  months  before,  and  taken 
supper,  warming  himself  by  the  big  fire  while  he  told 
wonderful  stories  about  Indians  and  furs,  and  about  hav 
ing  many  a  time  had  "fifty  mile  o'  traps  out  on  one 
stretch."  Yes,  he  was  the  very  man,  she  believed,  who  had 
told  her  parents  how  he  had  seen  a  bear  walking  one  moon 
light  night  across  the  very  spot  where  their  cabin  now  stood. 
She  remembered,  too,  that  her  father  had  told  her  the 
next  day  that  trappers  lived  by  catching  with  traps  all 


TRAPPER  JOE  173 

sorts  of  wild  animals,  and  selling  their  furs  to  the  traders, 
and  that  this  particular  trapper  had  been  very  successful, 
and  had  great  influence  among  the  Indians  —  in  fact,  that 
he  was  "  one  of  the  big  men  of  that  country,"  as  he  said. 

These  thoughts  running  through  her  mind  now  as  she 
told  how  they  had  been  lost  in  the  forest  for  two  whole 
days,  and  a  night,  and  the  sight  of  Nat  falling  peacefully 
asleep  on  the  trapper's  shoulder,  made  her  feel  so  happy 
that  she  suddenly  broke  forth  with,  "  0  Mr.  Trapper  !  I. 
can  run  now.  Let  's  go  right  home  ! " 

THE  stars  came  out  one  by  one  that  night,  and  winked 
and  blinked  at  a  strange  figure  stalking  through  the  forest. 
He  had  a  sleeping  child  on  his  arm,  and  yet  carried  his 
gun  ready  to  fire  at  an  instant's  notice.  Trudging  on,  with 
poor  little  Winnie  half  running  beside  him,  he  muttered 
to  himself: 

"  Well,  old  Joe,  you  Ve  bagged  all  sort  o'  game  in  this 
'ere  forest,  and  trapped  'most  everything  a-goin',  but  you 
ain't  never  had  such  a  rare  bit  o'  luck  as  this.  No  wonder 
I  stood  there  on  the  edge  of  the  timber-land,  listening  to  I 
did  n't  know  what!  Eeckon  here  's  a  couple  o'  skins  now '11 
be  putty  popular  at  one  market  at  any  rate, —  fetch  'most 
any  price  you  could  name.  But  I  '11  let  'em  go  cheap ;  all 
the  pay  I  want  for  these  'ere  critters  is  jest  to  see  the 
antics  of  them  poor  frightened  -  Hello  !  there 's  a  light ! 
What,  ahoy  !  Neighbor,  hello  !  hello  ! " 

"  Got  'em  both  ! "  he  shouted,  as  three  figures,  two  men 
and  a  woman,  came  in  sight  through  the  starlight.  "All 
right  —  got  'ein  both  ! " 


174 


THE  LAND  OF  PLUCK 


The  children  are  awake  now.  What  sobs,  what  laughter, 
what  broken  words  of  gratitude  and  joy,  fall  upon  the  mid 
night  air  !  Little  Nat  utters  only  a  faint  "  Hello,  Papa  ! 
hello,  Mania  ! "  as  he  slides  from  Trapper  Joe's  strong  hold 
into  his  mother's  outstretched  arms. 

Mother,  Father,  Trapper  Joe,  and  the  neighbor  seem  all 
to  be  talking  at  once  —  and  Winnie,  wondering  and  thrilled 
with  strange  happiness,  is  saying  to  herself :  "  I  knew  God 
would  show  us  the  way  home  ! " 


THE   BRIGHTON   CATS 


\ 


MAY    AND    MABEL. 


THE   BRIGHTON  CATS 

MABEL  AND  MAY,  the  twins,  were  very  fond  of  cats. 
From  the  time  when  they  first  toddled  about  the  house  arid 
garden,  they  had  a  pet  kitten  that  was  their  special  pride 
and  joy.  Strange  to  say,  under  these  circumstances,  this 
kitten  had  a  very  comfortable  though  active  existence, 
and  seemed  to  think  that,  instead  of  the  twins  owning 
it,  it  owned  the  twins. 

Well,  one  happy  day  when  May  and  Mabel  were  eight 
years  old,  their  Uncle  Jack  came  home  from  a  long  visit— 
in  fact,  as  Mabel  said,  he  had  been  away  from  them  "  a 
whole  half-year."  He  always  had  lived  on  Long  Island,  but 
now  he  had  been  to  Europe,  and  that,  the  twins  insisted, 
"  made  a  great  difference."  He  had  seen  the  bears  at  Berne  ; 
the  poll-parrots  at  Havre  ;  the  lions  and  tigers  at  Hamburg ; 
the  monstrous  birds  and  all  the  wonderful  things  in  the 
Jar  din  des  Plantes  in  Paris  ;  and  the  fishes  and  sea-marvels 
in  the  London  Aquarium.  But  best  of  all,  to  the  twins, 
he  had  seen  the  amazing  and  delightful  Brighton  cats  — 
those  highly  intelligent  and  dramatic  creatures  that,  at  one 
time,  were  celebrated  throughout  Great  Britain, 

13  177 


178  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

It  was  on  a  winter  evening,  after  their  early  supper,  that 
the  twins  first  heard  about  the  Brighton  cats.  Uncle  Jack, 
bowing  elegantly,  asked  them  to  "  step  into  the  library, 
please." 

When  they  were  cozily  seated  by  the  big  table,  he  ob 
served  :  "  I  believe  you  two  like  cats  and  kittens  best  of 
all  your  animal  friends." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  indeed  we  do  ! "  exclaimed  the  twins. 

At  this,  Uncle  Jack  ran  his  hand  deep  down  into  the 
inner  breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  and  held  it  there  mysteri 
ously,  while  the  twins  waited  eagerly  to  see  what  new  sur 
prise  was  coming.  Slowly  he  drew  forth  a  small  packet  of 
pictures,  carefully  laying  them  before  him,  backs  up. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Mabel. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  May. 

"  Just  so,"  remarked  Uncle  Jack.  "  We  understand  one 
another  perfectly."  And,  somehow,  he  contrived  by  his  tone 
and  manner  to  let  them  know  that  he  highly  approved  of 
their  patient  politeness,  and  that  he  would  now  proceed. 

And  this  is  the  story  he  told  them  —  true  from  begin 
ning  to  end.  And  the  pictures  of  the  Brighton  cats,  shown 
in  these  pages,  are  carefully  copied  from  the  very  photo 
graphs  that  Uncle  Jack  took  from  his  pocket  that  evening. 


DID  ever  you  hear  of  the  Brighton  cats  ?  No  ?  Well, 
that  is  strange,  for  they  are  very  famous  fellows,  I  assure 
you.  Brighton  is  in  England,  you  must  know.  They  are 
trained  cats,  and  they  are  not  only  very  good  actors,  but, 
what  is  more  pleasant  still,  they  seem  to  enjoy  their  own 


THE  BRIGHTON  CATS 


179 


performances  very  much.  Their  master  loves  them  clearly, 
and  every  day  they  jump  up  on  his  shoulders,  and,  rubbing 
their  soft  cheeks  against  his  beard,  purr  gently,  as  if  to 
say,  "Ah,  master  dear,  if  it  were  not  for  you,  how  stupid 


I'IMPKINS     PAINTS. 


we  should  be  !  You  have  taught  us  everything."  Then 
the  master  laughs  and  strokes  them,  before  he  sets  them 
at  work.  Then  he  says: 

"  Pussies,  attention  !  " 

Down  they  jump,  their  eyes  flashing,  their  ears  twitch 
ing  and  eager,  their  very  tails  saying  — "Aye,  aye,  sir." 


180  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Pimpkins,  to  work  !  " 

Pimpkins  is  a  painter ;  that  is,  he  has  learned  to  hold  a 
palette  and  mahlstick  in  one  paw,  and  a  brush  in  the 
other,  which  you  '11  admit  is  doing  very  well  for  a  cat. 
With  his  master's  help,  he  is  soon  in  readiness,  perched 
upon  a  stool  and  painting  away  for  dear  life  on  the  canvas 
before  him.  There  is  always  a  very  queer-looking  picture 
on  the  easel  unfinished,  and  pussy  daubs  away  at  it  when 


A     GAME     OF     CHESS. 


visitors  are  by ;  but  when  asked  whether  he  did  it  all  or 
not,  he  keeps  very  still,  and  so  does  his  master. 

Meantime  the  two  other  pussies,  whom  we  must  know 
as  Tib  and  Miss  Moffit,  obeying  a  signal  from  the  master, 
seat  themselves  at  a  table,  and  begin  a  lively  game  at 
chess.  The  chessmen  stand  in  proper  order  at  first,  and 
both  pussies  look  at  them  with  an  air  of  unconcern.  Soon 


THE  BRIGHTON  CATS 


181 


Tib  moves  his  man.  Then  Miss  Moffit  moves  hers.  On 
comes  Tib  again,  this  time  moving  two  men  at  once.  In 
stantly  Moffit  moves  three.  The  game  now  grows  serious. 
Moffit's  men  press  so  thickly  on  Tib's  that  suddenly  he 
gives  all  of  them  a  shove,  and  Miss  Moffit  is  check-mated ! 
Then  Tib  is  grand.  Leaning  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and 


MISS     MOFFIT    HANGS    THE    CLOTHES    TO    DRY. 

tipping  his  head  sideways,  he  looks  severely  at  Moffit  until 
she  fairly  glares. 

After  this  all  the  pussies  are,  perhaps,  requested  to 
wash  for  their  master.  And  they  do  it,  too,  in  fine  style, 
though,  when  they  are  through,  Tib  and  Pimpkins  gen 
erally  squabble  for  a  bath  in  the  tub,  or  pretend  to  do 
so.  The  fact  is,  they  hate  soapy  water ;  but  being  great 
actors,  they  scorn  to  show  their  real  feelings  while  per 
forming.  Meanwhile  Miss  Moffit  takes  the  clothes  they 
12* 


182 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


are  supposed  to  have  washed,  and  demurely  hangs  them 
on  the  line  to  dry. 

After  work  comes  play.  Miss  Moftit  and  Pimpkins 
have  a  little  waltz,  and  Tib  slides  down  the  balusters. 
Sometimes  Tib  amuses  himself  by  drawing  the  cork  from 


MISS     MOFFIT    AND     PIMPKINS     WALTZ. 


his  master's  ale-bottle.  And  then  if  the  foaming  ale 
happens  to  be  unusually  lively,  it  makes  a  leap  for  Tib, 
and  Tib  rubs  his  nose  with  his  paws  for  five  minutes 
afterward. 

Are  they  ever  naughty  ?  Yes,  indeed.  But  even  then 
their  good  master  is  gentle  with  them.  He  never  whips 
them,  but  simply  looks  injured,  and  orders  them  to  "  do 


THE  BRIGHTON  CATS  183 


TIB    ACTS    AS    BUTLER. 


penance."  Poor  Tib  and  Moffit,— for  they  generally  are 
the  naughty  ones, —  how  they  hate  this  !  But  they  never 
think  of  such  a  thing  as  escaping  the  punishment.  No, 
indeed ;  they  jump  upon  a  chair  at  once,  and,  shutting  their 
eyes,  stand  as  you  see  them  in  the  picture,  two  images  of 
misery,  until  their  master  says  they  may  get  down. 

What  else  can  they  do  ?  Why,  ever  so  many  bright 
things,  I  suppose,  though  I  have  told  you  of  all  that  comes 
to  my  mind  at  present.  Ah,  yes,  they  bowed;  yes,  all 
three  stood  in  a  line  and  bowed  gravely  whenever  the 
pleased  audience  applauded  very  warmly.  Sometimes, 
too,  they  would  place  their  right  paws  upon  their  hearts 
as  they  bowed ;  but  this  was  an  uncertain  part  of  the  per 
formance,  and  their  master  pretended  not  to  notice  when 
they  failed. 

One  day  an  old  woman  from  the  country,  after  intently 


184  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

watching  these  talented  cats, —  painting,  chess-play  in  <?  and 
all  that, —  shook  her  head  solemnly.  "  I  dunno  as  it's 
right,"  she  said  ;  "  it 's  onnatural— cuttin'  about  and  actin' 
like  Christians  as  they  do." 

Tib  stood  on  his  hind  legs  at  this,  and  Miss  Moffit  shook 
paws  with  Pimpkins  —  as  well  she  might. 

So  ended  Uncle  Jack's  true  story.  While  telling  it  lie 
had  always,  at  the  right  moment,  presented  May  and  Mabel 
with  the  fitting  photograph  so  that  they  might  see  exactly 
how  these  Brighton  cats  appeared  in  each  scene. 


DOING     PENANCE. 


WOETH   YOUR   WEIGHT   IN   GOLD 

(A  TALK  WITH  GIRLS) 


WOETH   YOUK   WEIGHT   IN   GOLD 

A   STORY   FROM   LIFE 

"  YES,  Miss  Mamie,  dat  's  jes'  what  de  missus  sed  to  me, 
'Aunt  Patsy/  ses  she,  'you  's  jes'  wuf  yo'  weight  in 
gole.'  An'  so  I  wuz,  Miss  Mamie ;  I  know'd  it.  Poor 
weak  ole  cull'd  pusson  as  I  is,  I  know'd  she  war  tellin'  d' 
exac'  trufe.  De  Lord  knows  't  ain't  no  vain-gloruf  cation 
fur  ole  Patsy  t'  say  dem  words.  I  don'  take  no  pus'nal 
credit  'bout  it,  Miss  Mamie.  Cookin'  takes  practice,  but 
it  's  got  to  come  fus'  by  natur'.  De  ang'l  Gabr'el  hisse'f 
could  n't  make  a  cook  out  o'  some  folks.  It  's  got  to  be 
born  inter  yer  like.  I  'se  mighty  'umble  and  fearful  ub 
myse'f  'bout  some  t'ings,  but  not  'bout  cookin'.  Dat  I 
un'stan' ;  an'  dat  's  what  made  me  wuf  my  weight  in  gole. 
Missus  did  11'  hab  no  sort  troubl'  'bout  nothin'  afer  once  dis 
chile  come.  'You  's  jes'  wuf  yo'  weight  in  gole,'  she  say  to 
ole  Patsy  one  ebenin'  in  my  kitchum,  when  I  was  a-gettin' 
de  supper  ready  for  de  fam'ly.  She  say  so.  Ain't  no  use 
talkin'  'bout  it — dem 's  her  'cise  words  ter  prove  it. 

"  Well,  de  work  wuz  mighty  heavy  in  dat  house.  Stacks 
o'  comp'ny,  and  massa  war  one  ob  dem  perwiders  dat  don' 
hab  no  sort  o'  notion  how  many  pots  kin  go  onto  de  stobe, 

187 


188  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

and  seem  t'  t'ink  de  oben  was  'mos'  big  as  de  barn.  Many  's 
de  time  I  got  so  tired  seem'd  to  me  's  if  I  'd  drop ;  but 
af'er  missus  sed  dat,  I  did  n'  mind  nuffin'.  '  Patsy,'  sez  I, 
when  I  seed  myse'f  gettin'  done  up, '  yer  goo'  f  nuffin'  lazy 
nigger,  wha'  's  matter  wid  yer  ?  Don'  yer  know  yer  's  wuf 
yo'  weight  in  gole  ? ' —  and  dat  ud  fotch  me  squar'  up. 
Many  's  de  time  I  'se  sed  dem  words  to  myse'f  sence  dat 
day,  but  wid  dis  diff'ence :  Missus,  dear  soul !  she  done 
gone  to  Ab'am's  bosom  four  year  'go ;  an'  ole  Patsy  eber 
sence  's  been  mos'  too  fur  on  wid  dis  ere  cough  to  be  much 
'count  to  white  folks  —  and  so  I  keep  sayin'  to  myse'f, 
'  Yer  wuz  wuf  yer  weight  in  gole.  Don'  you  nebber  forgit 
dat.' " 

And,  all  this  time,  the  brightly  kerchiefed  and  check- 
aproned  speaker  was  going  on  briskly  with  her  work,  while 
I  sat  looking  at  her  with  an  amused  smile  ? 

Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  was  helpless  in  bed,  dying  of  con 
sumption,  and  my  heart  was  full  of  reverence  as  I  stood 
gently  fanning  her.  She  was  talking  beyond  her  strength, 
but  I  knew  it  was  useless  to  check  her  while  her  thoughts 
were  with  this  treasured  saying  of  her  "  missus."  Presently 
she  sank  into  a  doze.  I  stood  there,  afraid  to  move  lest  I 
should  wake  her. 

In  a  few  moments  she  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Bress  yer  heart,  Miss  Mamie,  don'  stan'  dere  no  lon 
ger.  Ole  Patsy  don'  want  ter  be  missed  like  she  war  a 
queen." 

Her  eyes  were  so  bright  and  her  tones  so  cheerful  that  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  laugh ;  but,  instead,  she  said 
softly : 


WORTH   YOUR    WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  189 

"  'T  ain't  fur  much  longer,  Honey ;  de  Lord  '11  soon  sen' 
his  char'ot  an'  take  me  to  glory." 

She  ceased  speaking.  I  knew  by  her  face,  though  not  a 
sound  could  be  heard,  that  she  was  singing  under  her 
breath  one  of  the  dear  old  negro  hymns  that  we  had  been 
used  to  hearing  when  she  was  up  and  at  work ;  and  then 
she  fell  into  another  doze. 

Two  weeks  from  that  day  the  chariot  came. 

HAPPY  old  Aunt  Patsy !  Even  with  the  memory  of  her 
illness  and  suffering  fresh  in  mind,  I  always  think  of  her 
as  "  happy  old  Aunt  Patsy,"  for  had  she  not  been  worth 
her  weight  in  gold  ?  The  dear  old  woman  always  laid 
great  stress  not  at  being  prized  at  her  weight  in  gold,  but 
in  being  really  wuf  it.  That  was  the  point.  And  the  best 
of  it  was  that  her  precious  weight  being  mainly  in  her 
value  as  a  good  servant,  it  increased  just  so  much  in  pro 
portion  as  she  excelled.  Simple-hearted  creature  though 
she  was,  she  would  have  scorned  the  idea  of  weight,  in  this 
connection,  being  a  matter  of  mere  flesh  and  bones.  No, 
it  was  Patsy  the  cook  who  was  weighed  in  the  balance. 

It  seems  to  me  now  that  if  I  had  seen  Aunt  Patsy 
when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  heard  her  tell  her  story,  it 
would  have  been  a  great  help.  It  would  have  taught  me, 
in  one  easy  lesson,  that  to  be  worth  your  weight  in  gold  is 
a  great  advantage,  and  that  the  best  way  of  becoming 
worth  your  weight  in  gold  is  to  learn  to  do  some  one 
thing  thoroughly  well.  Aunt  Patsy  could  cook.  That  is 
a  fine  thing  in  itself.  Cooking  is  a  good  business  when 
one  has  one's  living  to  make,  and  a  valuable  accomplish- 


190  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

ment  when  one  has  a  living  ready-made.  Every  one  of 
us  girls,  little  and  big,  young  and  old,  should  know  some 
thing  about  it,  and  should  seize  all  good  opportunities  to 
improve  in  the  art.  But  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  to 
learn  to  cook ;  that  is,  not  now ;  especially  if  it  is  not 
"  born  into  you."  I  only  throw  out  as  a  friendly  sugges 
tion  the  idea  that  every  girl  should  make  it  an  object,  as 
Aunt  Patsy  did,  to  learn  to  do  one  thing  well  at  a  time. 
If,  as  a  start,  she  selects  some  style  of  housework,  so  much 
the  better.  Let  it  be  sweeping  and  dusting ;  let  it  be 
bed-making;  let  it  be  clear-starching,  silver-cleaning  or 
cutting  and  sewing,  or  even  one  branch  of  cookery,  such  as 
bread-making,  or  that  rare  art,  potato-boiling.  Let  her 
aim  at  real  excellence  in  any  one  of  these,  taking  the  most 
exact  pains,  looking  out  day  by  day  for  ways  of  improve 
ment,  aiming  to  excel  herself  at  each  effort,  until,  at  last, 
"  Jenny  did  it "  (or  whatever  her  fortunate  name  may  be) 
shall  stand  as  a  guarantee  for  excellence  in  this  or  that 
special  department.  Let  Jenny's  butter,  or  Jenny's  bread, 
be  the  best  her  father  and  mother  ever  tasted ;  or  let  them 
feel  that  no  one  else  can  so  brighten  the  silver,  or  the  tins, 
or  furniture ;  that  it  is  sure  to  be  all  right  if  Jenny  but 
sweeps  the  halls  and  stairs,  or  Jenny  but  makes  the  pud 
ding, — "  It  's  her  specialty,  you  know," — and  you  will  see, 
if  you  are  Jenny,  what  satisfaction  there  is  in  it. 

Then,  when  one  style  of  work  is  mastered,  another  can 
be  taken  up  and  made  a  study ;  and  so  on,  till  you  are 
worth  your  weight  in  gold  to  your  family.  Mind,  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  while  these  special  endeavors  are  going 


WORTH   YOUR    WEIGHT  IN   GOLD  191 

on  you  are  to  do  all  other  work  carelessly  and  without  in 
terest.  Not  so,  of  course.  I  mean  only  that  one  branch  at 
a  time  shall  receive  most  care  and  attention  till  it  is  mas 
tered  to  the  utmost  of  your  ability.  Nor  do  I  mean  that 
you  are  to  spend  all  of  your  young  life  in  housework.  An 
average  of  half  an  hour  a  day  devoted  to  such  work,  or 
even  less,  all  through  one's  girlhood,  will  in  many  cases  be 
all  that  is  necessary  or  desirable.  But  certainly  a  girl  is 
to  be  pitied  who  never  is  taught  to  sew,  nor  given  an  oppor 
tunity  to  learn  practically  the  rudiments  of  housewifery. 
I  hope  none  of  you  who  read  this  are  so  unfortunate. 

There  are  other  fields  of  effort  which  you  may  cultivate. 
Sewing  or  music,  reading,  fancy-work,  drawing,  certain 
school-studies,  gardening  —  whichever  of  them  seems  most 
attractive  to  you  —  will  serve  as  a  starting-point.  I  have 
dwelt  principally  upon  the  art  of  cooking,  because  Aunt 
Patsy  set  me  talking ;  but  there  are  many  fair  paths  open 
ing  in  every  direction.  Take  the  one  nearest  by,  whether 
it  lead  to  the  kitchen,  the  parlor,  the  library,  or  out  of 
doors.  But  be  sure  to  be  thorough  as  you  go  along.  Don't 
shimble-shamble  through  everything,  and  then  wonder 
that  those  who  love  you  best  are  not  quite  satisfied  with 
your  progress  — that  you  do  not  really  add  to  any  one's 
comfort  or  interest ;  in  short,  that  you  are  not  your  worth 
in  gold. 

"  I  love  books  best,  but  can  I  be  a  help  to  anybody  at 
home  if  I  sit  and  read  all  day  ? "  you  may  ask. 

And  I  answer,  you  cannot.  If  you  read  too  much,  you 
are  not  reading  well.  If  you  read  too  steadily,  you  are  not 


192  THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 

reading  well.  And  if  you  read  books  that  do  not  make  you 
more  intelligent,  more  sunny,  more  charitable  and  high- 
minded  than  you  otherwise  would  be,  you  are  reading 
very  badly  indeed.  If  you  sit  reading  for  hours,  selfishly 
neglecting  some  duty,  and  filling  your  mind  with  false  ideas 
of  life,  and  arousing  thoughts  that  in  your  secret  heart 
you  know  are  not  good  for  you,  you  are  doing  an  injury, 
not  only  to  yourself,  but  to  others  with  whom  you  hence 
forth  may  be  brought  in  contact. 

But  if  at  seasonable  times,  and  after  proper  intervals  of 
play  or  bodily  exercise,  you  read  in  an  inquiring,  sincere 
way  books  that  entertain  or  instruct  the  best  part  of  you 
(we  all  soon  find  out  what  that  best  part  of  our  nature  is), 
and  that  have  been  selected  under  guidance  of  some  one 
competent  to  help  you,  then  you  are  doing  good  to  others 
as  well  as  to  yourself,  by  reading.  You  hardly  can  go  up  or 
down  stairs  when  in  the  mood  such  reading  engenders  with 
out  doing  somebody  good.  If  it  is  only  the  cat  on  the  land 
ing,  she  11  get  the  benefit  of  it  somehow.  A  sunny,  healthy 
mind  sheds  beams  of  light  unconsciously ;  and  then  there 
are  the  cheery  word,  the  pleasant  smile,  the  ready  spirit 
of  fun,  the  thoughtful  question  or  answer,  the  entertaining 
bubbles  of  talk  that  rise  to  the  surface  of  a  mind  set 
sparkling  by  good  books  worthily  read.  You  will  soon 
find  the  value  of  it  all, —  or  some  one  else  will. 

It  is  not  so  much  what  good  thing  we  do,  though  that  is 
of  great  consequence,  but  how  well  we  do  it  that  deter 
mines  our  success.  A  pragmatic,  conceited  manner,  or  a 
too  selfish  eagerness,  will  spoil  any  pursuit.  There  is  such 
a  thing,  you  must  know,  as  being  unpleasantly  pleasant, 


WORTH   YOUR    WEIGHT  IN  GOLD  193 

meanly  generous,  incompetently  competent,  or  even  wick 
edly  pious.  If  you  will  think  a  moment,  you  will  see  that 
it  must  be  so. 

For  instance,  a  gift  that  really  is  of  help  to  one  needing 
it  may  be  given  in  the  spirit  of  display  or  of  rivalry  with 
some  other  giver.  This  is  not  true  generosity.  A  merely 
surface  quality,  however  effective  to  outsiders,  cannot  be 
the  same  as  a  quality  which  is  so  true,  so  deep  and  genu 
ine,  so  in  the  grain  from  use  and  steady  growth,  that  it 
has  become  a  part  of  one's  own  soul. 

Doubtless  circumstances  make  the  paths  of  improve 
ment  easy  for  some  and  difficult  for  others  —  but  a  life 
that  is  easy  at  the  start  is  not  necessarily  a  fortunate  life. 
Hindering  things  sometimes  are  the  stepping-stones  to 
prosperity  and  peace.  I  know  to-day  noble  women  whose 
lives  are  the  fitting  flower  of  a  beautiful,  happy,  indus 
trious  girlhood  —  women  who  did  not  spend  their  early, 
most  impressive  years  solely  for  enjoyment's  sake,  with  a 
vague  sense  of  something  far  ahead,  called  life,  which  had 
very  little  to  do  with  their  present  plans  and  pleasures  — 
even  with  their  studies  and  occupations. 

Some  persons,  if  once  started  on  a  road,  will  be  so  confi 
dent  of  their  way  that  they  '11  forget  to  make  the  proper 
turnings ;  and  there  are  persons  who,  in  their  tremendous 
efforts  for  usefulness  or  self-improvement,  make  all  around 
them  uneasy  and  uncomfortable.  That  is  over-zeal.  Such 
persons  are  not  worth  their  weight  in  gold  to  anybody.  Then 
we  have  the  self-satisfied  kind,  the  worst  of  all,  perhaps. 
Self-satisfaction  is  a  wall  that,  builded  by  a  girl's  own 
vanity,  shuts  her  in  completely.  She  cannot  get  outside  of 

13 


194  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

it  herself,  and  no  one  cares  to  scale  it  in  order  to  get  at  her. 
A  state  of  entire  self-satisfaction  is  the  loneliest  thing  on 
earth.  Self-approbation  is  another  matter.  It  is  worth 
trying  for  because  it  is,  in  itself,  good.  But  we  must  build 
steps  with  it,  not  walls. 

That  is  what  Aunt  Patsy  did.  She  cooked  better  and 
better  every  day.  She  worked  hard  for  self-approbation, 
and  slowly  made  it  her  stairway.  Steadily  she  mounted, 
always  humble  and  fearful  of  herself,  but  always  hearing 
her  mistress's  words,  "  worth  your  weight  in  gold  " ;  and 
when  at  last  she  stood  on  the  top  of  the  little  flight,  she 
felt  sure  the  Lord  was  pleased  that  Old  Patsy  had  been  of 
use  to  somebody. 

To-day,  in  the  soft  twilight, —  a  golden  haze  slowly 
hiding  the  hilltops,  gentle  memories  gathering  within  my 
soul, —  I  can  hear  the  echo  of  Aunt  Patsy's  sweet  refrain  : 

"  Swing  low,  sweet  chariot, 
Comin'  for  to  carry  me  home." 


BIANCA   AND   BEPI>0 


"'HARK!'   SAID   BEPPO;    'WHAT   is  THAT'*' 


BIANCA   AND   BEPPO 

BIANCA  and  Beppo  were  two  little  Italian  children. 
Their  father  was  a  Duke,  and  they  lived  years  and  years 
ago  when  many  of  the  Dukes  of  Italy  were  at  war  with  one 
another.  Young  as  they  were,  Bianca  and  Beppo  were 
used  to  the  sight  of  grim  cavalcades  of  armed  men  and 
mail-clad  warriors. 

It  was  a  beautiful  castle,  adorned  with  fine  pictures, 
tapestries,  and  statues.  Gay  flowers  bloomed  at  many  a 
window ;  and  the  colors  on  the  walls  and  floors  were  so 
cunningly  mingled  that  they  were  known  to  be  there 
only  by  a  sense  of  brightness  that  filled  the  great  rooms. 
There  were  singing  birds,  too,  that  sang  just  as  our  birds 
sing  to-day.  But  pictures,  or  flowers,  or  birds,  were  not 
half  so  bright,  blooming,  and  merry  as  Beppo  and  Bianca. 
Their  father  often  said  that  the  very  armor  in  his  halls 
tingled  with  their  childish  laughter. 

One  day  their  mother,  with  an  armed  escort  composed 
of  the  most  trusty  of  the  duke's  retainers,  went  away  on  a 
visit  to  her  father,  a  fierce  old  Baron,  whose  castle  was 
many  miles  distant  in  the  heart  of  the  Apennines.  That 

13*  107 


198  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

very  night  trouble  came  to  the  home  where  these  children 
dwelt.  In  their  little  carved  and  gilded  beds,  side  by  side, 
they  were  wakened  by  a  sudden  commotion,  as  if  men 
were  scuffling  below ;  and  after  that  they  could  not  go  to 
sleep  again,  because  the  castle  was  so  very,  very  still. 
For  a  long  time  they  lay  trembling  and  silent ;  at  last 
Beppo  said  : 

"Bianca,  wait  thou  here.  I  will  go  down  and  rouse  our 
father.  Perhaps  he  is  still  asleep.  What  if  evil  work  has 
been  done?" 

"  Nay,  Beppo,"  said  Bianca,  shuddering,  "  our  men  have 
been  fighting,  and  it  may  be  their  swords  are  drawn  yet. 
Do  not  go  among  them.  Thou  knowest  how  the  people  of 
the  wicked  Duke  Faustino  fell  upon  young  Martigni  one 
night  when  they  were  drunken,  and  would  have  killed 
him  had  not  help  come.  Martigni  is  taller  by  a  head 
than  thou  art." 

"Aye,  but  the  duke's  men  are  not  overloyal  to  his 
house ;  besides,"  said  Beppo,  proudly,  "  I  could  handle  a 
sword  myself,  if  need  be." 

"Take  me  with  thee,"  said  Bianca. 

So  the  two  children  rose  softly,  and  hastily  putting  on 
their  clothes,  stole  down  the  dark  stone  stairway  together. 
A  ray  of  moonlight,  coming  through  a  high,  narrow  window 
overhead,  made  them  start,  but  when  they  reached  their 
father's  chamber  and  found  the  door  wide  open,  the  bed 
empty,  disordered,  and  signs  of  violence  in  the  moonlighted 
room,  they  clung  to  each  other  in  dread  find  terror. 

"What  ho!  without  there!"  cried  Beppo,  finding  voice 
at  last. 


BIANGA   AND  BEPPO  199 

There  was  no  answer. 

Bianca,  hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  ran  screaming  from 
the  chamber,  out  into  the  long  dark  hall,  and  on  through 
the  great  oaken  door,  which,  to  her  surprise,  was  wide  open. 
Finally,  she  stood  irresolute  upon  the  marble  terrace. 

Beppo  followed  her.  On  his  way  he  saw  one  of  the 
duke's  chief  attendants  lying  very  still. 

"  Fesco  !  Fesco  !  are  you  hurt  ? "  called  Beppo,  again  and 
again. 

But  Fesco  did  not  answer ;  and  with  a  shudder,  the  boy 
bounded  past  him  and  joined  Bianca  on  the  terrace. 

Down  the  long  broad  walk,  past  the  beautiful  garden, 
and  out  through  the  open  gateway  they  flew  together,  two 
scantily- clad  little  children,  chilly  with  fear  on  that  warm, 
bright  night,  and  trembling  at  every  sound.  Oh,  if  their 
father  were  but  with  them! 

The  forest  was  near  by  —  gloomy  and  grim  now  in  its 
shadows,  but  safer,  at  any  rate,  than  the  open  highway. 
They  would  hide  there,  they  thought,  till  morning. 

But  night  was  nearly  over;  very  soon  the  faint  pink 
streaks  that  lit  the  edge  of  the  sky  spread  and  grew 
brighter  and  brighter.  The  children  sat  on  a  mossy  mound 
for  a  while  and  with  tearful  eyes  watched  the  growing 
light.  Then  Bianca  remembered  some  fruit  that  she  had 
stowed  the  day  before  in  the  satchel  hanging  from  her 
girdle.  She  put  it  into  Beppo's  cap,  and  begged  him  to  eat. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Beppo.    "  Hark  !    What  is  that  ?  " 

They  listened.  It  was  a  faint  sound  as  of  some  one 
moaning. 

"  Oh  !  oh  ! "  sobbed  Bianca,  "  what  can  it  be  ? " 


200  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

But  when  Beppo  rose  and  bravely  ran  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound,  she  followed  him,  and  peered  as  sharply  as 
he  into  every  bush.  Suddenly  Beppo  sprang  forward  with 
a  joyful  cry. 

He  had  seen  his  father. 

In  an  instant  the  two  children  were  bending  over  him, 
eagerly  trying  to  catch  his  indistinct  words. 

"  I  have  been  wounded,  my  little  ones,"  he  said,  slowly ; 
"  can  you  bring  me  water  ? " 

They  did  not  wait  to  wring  their  hands  and  cry.  Beppo, 
forgetting  his  fears, —  forgetting  everything  but  that  his 
father  needed  help, —  flew  to  his  home. 

At  the  portal,  whom  should  he  see  but  Fesco,  standing 
in  the  doorway,  staring  wildly  about  him. 

The  water  was  soon  obtained,  though  it  might  have 
been  brought  sooner,  if  Beppo,  in  his  excitement,  had  not 
forgotten  the  little  stream  near  the  great  sycamore.  And 
Beppo  and  Fesco  ran  to  the  forest  together. 

When  they  reached  the  spot  where  the  duke  lay,  Bianca, 
under  her  father's  directions,  was  doing  all  she  could  to 
bathe  his  wound ;  her  little  face  was  very  pale,  but  she 
looked  up  with  a  bright  smile  as  Beppo  approached. 

"  Father  says  he  will  get  well,  Beppo,  but  we  are  not  to 
move  him  from  this  soft  bed,  he  says.  See,  I  have  heaped 
leaves  under  his  head,  and  I  have  brought  water  in  my 
hands  from  the  brook." 

It  is  a  long,  long  story,  if  you  hear  every  word  of  it ; 
but  you  will  be  glad  to  get  quickly  to  its  ending.  .Beppo 
was  right ;  there  had  been  evil  work.  The  duke  had  been 
dragged  from  the  castle  and  stabbed.  His  guilty,  frightened 


BIANGA   AND  BEPPO  201 

assassins,  thinking  him  dead,  had  thrown  him  into  the 
forest.  All  of  the  duke's  servants,  excepting  Fesco,  had 
either  been  badly  wounded  or  had  fled  in  terror  at  the  first 
alarm.  He  had  been  drugged,  and  had  slept  so  heavily, 
that,  but  for  the  fresh  night-air  blowing  in  upon  him,  he 
mio'ht  never  have  wakened. 

o 

Fesco  now  tried  to  persuade  his  wounded  master  to  be 
taken  back  to  his  own  chamber,  but  the  duke  would  not 
consent.  He  lay  concealed  in  the  forest  for  a  week,  and 
every  day  his  children  tended  him  faithfully.  They 
brought  him  cooling  drinks  and  fruits,  and  fanned  him 
when  the  breezes  were  low ;  and  as  he  grew  better  they 
sang  sweet  little  songs  to  him,  and  carried  messages  back 
and  forth  between  the  duke  and  Fesco. 

Meantime  the  frightened  servants  had  returned ;  but 
Fesco  knew  he  could  not  trust  them  with  his  secret.  Only 
Mino,  the  old  nurse,  was  told  that  the  duke  was  alive,  and 
that  the  children  must  be  allowed  to  go  to  him;  but  Fesco 
threatened  her  with  such  terrible  things  if  she  breathed  a 
word  about  it,  that  she  was  only  too  glad  to  pretend  to 
mourn  for  her  master  with  a  grief  that  seemed  as  genuine 
as  that  of  the  other  servants.  Through  the  faithful  Fesco, 
the  duke  contrived  to  send  word  to  his  wife,  bidding  her 
stay  in  safe  quarters  for  a  while,  until  he  should  be  able 
to  join  her.  The  two  children,  busy  as  bees,  and  thought 
ful  night  and  day  for  their  dear  patient  hidden  in  the 
forest,  were  secretly  happy  as  children  could  be  —  despite 
the  somber  black  in  which  they  had  been  clothed  by  old 
Mino.  It  was  Bianca's  delight  to  gather  flowers  in  the 
coolest  places  and  heap  them  up  under  her  father's  head ; 


202  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

and  Beppo  was  proud  to  stand  guard,  sword  in  hand,  ready 
to  fight  off  any  enemy  that  might  approach. 

But  no  enemy  came ;  only  the  good  friends  health  and 
strength.  And  one  dark  night  the  duke  and  the  children, 
cleverly  disguised  by  Fesco,  were  driven  away  in  an  old 
wagon  for  miles  and  miles,  until  at  last  they  came  to  a 
shepherd's  cottage,  where  the  duchess  was  waiting  for 
them;  and  a  happier  meeting  than  theirs  never  took  place 
on  earth. 

After  that,  Beppo's  father  and  mother  went  to  live,  for  a 
while,  in  Germany,  taking  their  children  with  them,  while 
Fesco  stayed  at  home  to  look  after  his  master's  posses 
sions.  But  one  fine  day,  the  warfare  came  to  an  end,  as  all 
things  do  soon  or  late ;  and,  his  troubles  over,  the  duke 
was  free  again.  He  and  his  family  were  able  to  go  back 
and  live  in  their  castle  peacefully  and  happily;  and  once 
more  the  armor  on  the  old  walls  tingled  with  the  merry 
laughter  of  Bianca  and  Beppo. 


A  LAW  THAT  COULD  NOT  BE  BEOKEN 


OLD  MK.  FEATHEK-BEU  !  ALL  YOU  'VE  GOT  TO  DO  IS  TO  CATCH  IT.' 


A   LAW   THAT   COULD    NOT   BE   BROKEN 
A  YOUNG  LAWYER'S  STORY 

ONE  evening  I  was  reading  aloud  to  my  wife, —  not  one 
of  my  "never-ending  law  books,"  as  she  called  them,  but 
something,  to  my  mind,  much  heavier.  My  wife  had  a 
strange  fancy  for  primary  scientific  reading,  and  I  as  a 
wise  husband  humored  her  taste  whenever  I  could.  So 
tliis  time  the  book  chanced  to  be  one  called  Amott's 
"  Physics  or  Natural  Philosophy."  Suddenly,  in  the  very 
middle  of  a  sentence,  I  laughed  aloud. 

Now,  Arnott's  "  Physics  "  is  by  no  means  a  droll  book. 
I  am  quite  sure  there  is  not  a  joke  in  it,  from  cover  to 
cover.  So,  when  I  laughed,  my  wife  looked  up  in  great 
surprise,  for,  naturally,  my  reading  had  put  the  dear  little 
lady  in  a  decidedly  thoughtful  mood. 

"  What  is  it,  Eob  ? "  she  asked,  smiling  in  spite  of  her 
self  when  she  met  my  broad  grin. 

"  Tills  part  here,  about  the  center  of  gravity  and  its 
always  taking  the  proper  place,"  answered  I,  tapping  the 
page  with  my  fingers,  "  made  me  think  of  something." 

205 


206  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Did  it  ? "  she  said  with  solemn  surprise. 

As  the  precious  girl — please  don't  mind  my  speaking 
in  this  way  of  my  little  wife,  for,  the  fact  is,  we  have  been 
married  but  two  years,  and  she  is  just  twenty  to  my  twenty- 
five, —  as  the  precious  girl  evidently  did  not  expect  an 
answer  to  her  question,  I  took  up  the  book  again  and  read : 

"By  attending  to  the  center  of  gravity  of  the  bodies  around  us 
on  the  earth,  we  are  enabled  to  explain  why,  from  the  influence 
of  gravity,  some  of  them  are  stable,  or  firmly  fixed,  others  tot 
tering,  others  falling.  *  *  *  The  line  of  a  plummet  hanging 
from  the  center  of  gravity  is  called  the  line  of  direction  of  the 
center,  or  that  in  which  it  tends  naturally  to  descend  to  the 
earth. 

"  You  remember,  Lily,"  said  I,  interrupting  myself, 
"  the  law  we  read  in  Gale  yesterday : 

"While  the  line  of  direction  falls  within  the  base  upon  which 
the  body  stands,  the  body  cannot  upset;  but  if  the  line  fall 
beyond  the  base,  the  body  will  tumble." 

Then,  taking  a  pencil  and  note-book  from  my  pocket,  I 
made  a  picture  of  a  coach  tilted  by  a  great  stone  in  such 
a  way  that  a  perpendicular  line  drawn  from  its  center  of 
gravity  fell  beyond  the  base  of  the  coach,  that  is,  outside  of 
the  point  where  its  wheels  touched  the  ground,  and  she 
saw  at  a  glance,  with  a  little  womanly  shiver,  that  the 
coach  must  upset. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand  it  now,  perfectly,"  she  exclaimed, 
quite  pleased. 

So  I  read  on,  as  Dr.  Arnott  proceeded  to  tell  us  how  to 
find  the  center  of  gravity  of  any  object,  and  to  explain  in 


A   LAW  THAT  COULD  NOT  BE  BROKEN       207 

a  very  clear  and  delightful  way  the  principle  shown  in 
rolling  balls,  leaning  towers,  and  unsafe  chimneys;  in  the 
graceful  positions  of  skaters;  in  tumbling  dolls  and  the 
movements  of  various  toys, — 

"  Eob  !  "  exclaimed  my  wife. 

"  No,  dear,"  said  I,  listening  a  moment  and  thinking 
that  she  had  fancied  she  heard  the  baby  cry. 

"  Eob  ! "  she  exclaimed  again,  "  what  were  you  laughing 
about  ? " 

"  When  ? "  said  I. 

"  Why,  a  moment  ago." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  did  n't  I  ever  tell  you,  my  dear  ?  It  was 
such  a  capital  illustration  of  the  laws  we  have  just  been 
studying,  though  I  did  n't  know  it  at  the  time." 

"Well?"  said  she. 

She  drew  her  chair  close  to  mine,  with  a  comical  look 
of  curiosity  on  her  face,  and  I  began  in  a  dramatic  voice: 

"  T  is  now  about  fifteen  years  since  a  small  boy,  full  of 
mischief  by  nature,  but  very  cautious  by  education,  found 
himself  alone  in  the  upper  part  of  a  fine  city  mansion. 
His  mother  was  out.  The  servants  were  in  the  kitchen, 
and  this  small  boy  felt  that,  perhaps,  never  again  would 
lie  have  such  a  grand  chance  to  be  up  to — something,  lie 
hardly  knew  what." 

"Was  it  you,  Eob?" 

"  It  was,"  said  I.  "Well,  as  the  boys  say,  I  cast  about 
for  some  time,  not  able  to  settle  on  a  plan.  Many  delight 
ful  projects  entered  my  head,  but  they  were  all  more  or 
less  connected  with  danger.  There  was  the  roof,  as  steep 
and  as  slanting  as  heart  of  bov  could  wish  ;  but  T  had  been 


208  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

made  so  thoroughly  to  understand  that  to  tumble  from  it 
would  be  to  break  every  bone  in  my  body,  to  say  nothing 
of  being '  killed  stone  dead,'  that  I  gave  up  my  half-formed 
plan  at  once.  Then  there  was  the  window.  It  would  be 
fun  to  let  myself  down  from  it  by  tying  a  stout  rope  to  the 
bed-post,  and  so  sliding  to  the  ground.  But  the  rope 
might  break,  or  I  might  not  be  able  to  hold  on  —  and  the 
wild  thought  was  abandoned  in  a  flash.  Suddenly  an  idea 
came  to  me : 

"There  was  a  beautiful  porcelain  vase  on  the  top  of 
father's  bookcase,  high  out  of  reach.  Often  had  I  longed 
to  see  it  near  by,  or  perhaps  to  take  it  into  my  own  hands, 
but  always  I  had  been  met  by  a  harrowing  array  of 
reasons  why  my  wish  could  not  be  gratified.  In  the  first 
place  the  vase  was  precious  —  secondly,  it  was  fragile  — 
thirdly,  it  was  expensive  —  fourthly,  it  had  been  firmly 
perched  upon  the  top  of  that  solid  bookcase  so  that  it 
might  be  'safely  out  of  harm's  way' — fifthly,  there  was 
no  sense  in  my  desiring  a  nearer  view  of  it,  a  sharp-eyed 
little  fellow  like  me  —  sixthly,  they  had  no  time  to  bother 
with  such  nonsense — seventhly,  they  would  n't,  and  so  on, 
till,  in  the  course  of  time,  I  had  been  given  twenty  good 
reasons,  more  or  less,  why  that  vase  should  n't,  could  n't, 
and  must  n't  be  disturbed.  These,  of  course,  wrere  soon 
twisted  by  my  perverse  but  most  lovable  self  into  twenty 
or  less  good  reasons  why  I  should,  could,  and  must  hold 
that  vase  in  my  own  hands  and  enjoy  a  good,  long,  linger 
ing  look  at  it.  Now  was  my  opportunity.  Why  not  ? 
'There  was  no  one  nigh  to  hinder.'  But  — 

"  What  if  I  should  break  it  I 


A   LAW  THAT  COULD  NOT  BE  BROKEN       209 

"A  happy  thought  came.  Nothing  could  harm  it  if  I 
only  could  put  a  feather-bed  between  it  and  destruction. 
I  knew  where  there  was  a  tine  fat  one.  Glorious !  now  I 
could  manage  to  pull  the  vase  down  from  its  perch  as 
easy  as  a  wink,  and  without  breaking  it ! " 

"  You  little  goose  !  —  then,  not  now,"  added  Mrs.  Robert, 
hastily. 

"  Goose  or  not,  I  tried  it,"  said  I.  "  It  was  nearly  time 
for  mother  to  return.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost, 
and  I  had  to  make  important  preparations. 

"  The  bed  was  made  up  in  fine  style,  with  its  great 
ruffled  pillow  fixings  and  its  silken  spread  all  tucked  in 
as  if  it  were  never  to  come  out  again.  But  I  hauled  off 
the  covers,  and  with  many  a  tug  and  pull  brought  the 
feather-bed  to  the  floor.  Then  I  dragged  it  to  the  book 
case.  The  next  thing  was  to  fetch  a  step-ladder  from  the 
garret  —  no  easy  job  for  a  ten-year-old.  This  done,  it  was 
evident  I  should  need  some  sort  of  a  stick  with  which  I 
could  tenderly  start  the  vase.  Father's  umbrella  with  its 
crooked  handle  was  just  the  thing. 

"'Good!'  said  I  to  myself.  'Won't  it  be  larks  to  knock 
down  the  vase  and  never  hurt  it  a  bit !  Good  for  you,  too, 
Old  Mr.  Feather-Bed  !  All  you  've  got  to  do  is  to  catch  it.' 

"With  this,  seizing  the  umbrella  after  the  manner  of 
the  boy  and  flag  in  '  Excelsior,'  and  hastily  adjusting  the 
ladder,  I  mounted  to  the  top  and— 

"  O  Rob  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Robert,  laughing.  "  I  remember 
hearing  all  about  it !  Yes,  just  as  well  as  if  it  were  yes 
terday.  Your  mother  had  been  to  our  house,  and  my 
mother  had  gone  home  with  her.  They  went  right 


210  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

up-stairs,  and  just  as  they  opened  the  door  they  heard 
such  a  crash,  and  there  were  you  and  the  ladder  on  the 
floor  !  No,  the  ladder  was  on  the  feather-bed,  mama  said, 
and  you  were  on  the  floor.  You  must  have  pitched  over 
backward,  Eob,  just  as  the  ladder  slipped  from  under 
you." 

"Very  likely,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  I  declare !  That  was  a  caper  !  What  a  funny 
little  wisp  of  a  boy  you  were !  And  to  think  of  our 
actually  being  married  thirteen  years  afterward!  But 
what  about  the  vase  ? " 

"  Oh,  that  was  safe  enough,  you  may  be  sure,  for  the 
umbrella  had  n't  time  to  touch  it." 

"Eob,"  said  Mrs.  Robert,  "if  you  had  opened  that  ladder 
a  little  wider,  or  taken  a  plummet  up  with  you  and  been 
careful  to  have  the  line  of  direction  from  the  center  of 
gravity  fall  within  the  base  of  the  ladder,  all  would  have 
been  well,  would  n't  it,  my— 

Just  then  little  Rob  was  heard  in  the  next  room  scream 
ing  like  a  good  fellow.  Off'  ran  Mrs.  Robert.  I  was  left 
alone  to  ponder  over  the  laws  of  gravitation. 


A   GAEEET   ADVENTURE 


A  GAEEET   ADVENTURE 

"SNOW!  snow!  snow!" 

So  it  did !  But  Ned  Brant  need  not  have  been  so  cross 
about  it.  He  seemed  to  think,  as  he  said  the  words,  that, 
of  all  unfortunate,  ill-used  fellows,  he  was  the  most  to  be 
pitied  ;  and,  of  all  hateful,  malignant  things,  those  soft, 
white,  downy  specks,  flitting  past  the  window,  were  hate- 
fulest  and  most  malignant. 

"  Christmas  week,  too,  and  new  skates  !  new  skates  and 
no  skating  ! "  said  Ned,  bitterly. 

So  it  was ;  and  perhaps  the  snow  ought  to  have  been 
ashamed  of  itself ;  but  it  did  n't  seem  to  be. 

At  this  moment  a  great  clattering  was  heard  at  the 
back  door. 

"  They  've  come !  after  all,"  cried  Ned,  rushing  out  of 
the  room  and  down  the  stairs,  all  his  wretchedness  gone 
in  an  instant. 

His  two  sisters  were  at  the  door  before  him,  and  the 
three  opened  it  together. 

"  Oh,  oh,  howdy-do  ?  we  were  afraid  you  would  n't 
come ! "  said  some  voices,  and  "  Hello !  where  's  your 


214  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

scraper  ? "  "  Pooh  !  we  were  n't  going  to  mind  such  a  little 
snow  as  this,"  cried  others,  all  in  a  chorus. 

Six  visitors !  Think  of  that.  Two  lived  next  door  on 
one  side,  two  lived  next  door  on  the  other  side,  and  two 
lived  right  across  the  way.  The  first  pair  were  Wilbur 
and  Rob ;  the  second  pair  were  Herbert  and  Dickie ;  the 
third  pair  were  Jamie  and  Tommy.  Wilbur  had  on  an 
overcoat  and  a  muffler,  for  he  had  a  weak  chest.  Eob  had 
a  tippet  tied  over  his  ca,p,  for  he  was  subject  to  ear-ache. 
Herbert  had  a  cap  and  a  gray  overcoat ;  Dickie  had  a  cap 
and  no  overcoat ;  Jamie  wore  a  Scotch  suit ;  and  Tommy 
wore  a  short  bob-jacket  and  long  trousers.  I  tell  you  this 
so  that  you  may  know  how  they  appeared.  As  for  their 
faces,  they  were  so  rosy  and  bright  that  they  all  looked 
alike  when  the  door  opened.  All  the  visitors  were  boys, 
as  any  one  would  have  known  who  heard  the  tramping  as 
the  party  went  up-stairs. 

Yes,  up-stairs  they  went,  nine  of  them,  talking  every 
step  of  the  way.  The  home  children,  Ned,  Euth  and 
Dot,  almost  always  took  any  visitor  that  came,  right  to 
their  mother's  room  either  to  introduce  them,  or,  at  any 
rate,  to  give  them  the  benefit  of  her  hearty  "  How  do  you 
do,  my  dears  ? "  But  this  time  they  went  straight  past  her 
door,  up,  up,  to  the  very  garret. 

"  Ned,"  his  mother  had  said  in  the  morning,  "  if  the 
children  come  this  afternoon  to  help  you  keep  the  holi 
days,  either  play  in  the  yard  or  up  in  the  garret,  for  I 
shall  be  quite  busy.  Have  all  the  fun  you  can.  but  be 
sure  not  to  break  anything  and  not  to  take  cold." 

You   may  wonder  why  Mrs.  Brant   did  not  say :    "  Be 


A    GARRET  ADVENTURE  215 

sure  not  to  be  naughty."  But  she  would  almost  as  soon 
have  said :  "  Be  sure  not  to  cut  off  your  heads,"  as  to  have 
said  that.  She  knew  her  children  too  well  to  think  they 
did  not  wish  to  be  good.  As  for  telling  them  "  not  to 
take  cold,"  that  only  meant  they  must  be  sure  to  dress 
warmly  if  they  played  out  of  doors.  The  garret  was  never 
very  chilly,  because  the  heat  from  the  furnace  always 
crept  up  there  whenever  it  had  a  chance. 

It  was  a  lovely  old  garret,  light,  yet  mysterious,  with 
plenty  of  stored-away  things  in  it  to  make  it  interesting, 
and  a  great  cleared  space  to  play  in.  Just  now  it  was 
even  more  delightful  than  usual,  for  in  one  corner  of  it 
was  a  very  big  heap  of  "  potter's  clay." 

"  Oh,  what 's  that  ? "  cried  the  visitors,  the  moment  they 
reached  the  garret  door. 

"  That  's  potter's  clay,"  said  Euth.  "  It  's  splendid  for 
lots  of  things.  Father  's  going  to  make  some  kind  of 
what-you-call-'ems  out  of  it." 

Thereupon  the  six  visitors  all  stood  in  a  row  and  gazed 
at  the  heap.  It  was  gray,  dusty  and  lumpy,  and  looked 
something  like  faded-out  garden  soil. 

"  What  's  he  going  to  make  ? "  said  Tommy. 

"  I  don't  know,  exactly,"  said  Euth,  "  it  only  came 
yesterday." 

"  Was  it  a  Christmas  present  to  your  papa  ? "  asked  little 
Dickie,  innocently. 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  Ned,  with  lofty  scorn.  "He  had 
slippers.  What  'd  your  father  get  ? " 

"  Slippers,  too,"  said  Dickie. 

"  So  did  my  papa,"  remarked  Wilbur,  laughing. 


216  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  I  guess  all  gentlemens  get  'em,"  said  Dickie,  thought 
fully,  "but  I  'd  rather  have  'most  anything  'sides  them." 

Still  the  children  stood  staring  at  the  heap   of   clay. 

"  Let  's  sit  on  it,"  said  Jamie,  with  great  daring.  "  I 
guess  it  '11  dust  off." 

A  hint  was  enough.  The  heap  soon  was  covered  with 
children,  and  when  they  jumped  up  they  found  that  Jamie 
was  right.  It  "  dusted  off"  admirably. 

"  Let  's  make  a  road,"  cried  one  of  the  others. 

"All  right !"  said  Ned,  in  great  glee ;  but  he  looked  at 
Euth,  and  she  answered  his  look  with, "  Yes ;  we  'd  best 
ask  Mania." 

Ned  was  down  the  garret  stairs  in  a  twinkling.  Then 
on  the  next  flight  he  stopped  half-way  and  called : 
"Mother!  Mother !  may  we  play  with  the  clay?"  No 
answer  came;  so  he  ran  on  down.  Mrs.  Brant  was  very 
busy,  fitting  a  dress  for  her  mother. 

"  Don't  come  in,  Ned  ! "  she  called,  as  Ned  knocked  at  the 
door.  "  I  'm  busy  with  Grandma ;  what  do  you  want  ? " 

"  May  we  play  with  the  clay,  Mother  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  mother,  pinning  a  plait 
on  Grandma's  shoulder;  "do  what  you  please  with  it,  only 
don't  throw  it  about  and  get  it  into  one  another's  eyes." 

"Oli,  no,  certainly  not,"  answered  Ned,  as  he  rushed 
toward  the  garret  stairs  again,  quite  delighted. 

But  when  he  reached  the  top  he  found  all  the  children 
with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

They  had  already  forgotten  the  clay ;  for  Euth  had  taken 
a  big  onion  from  a  bunch  that  hung  on  one  of  the  rafters. 
Wilbur  had  cut  it  in  slices,  and  now  every  one  was  hold- 


A    GARRET  ADVENTURE  217 

ing  a  piece  to  see  "which  could  smell  the  onion  longest 
without  crying." 

"What  a  pack  of  ninnies ! "  cried  Ned,  laughing,  and  all 
the  ninnies  laughed  with  him,  except  little  Dot,  who 
whined  a  little  and  wished  she  had  not  tried  it. 

"  Have  you  given  up  the  road  ? "  asked  Ned,  but  nobody 
answered  him,  for  that  old  garret  had  so  much  in  it  to 
look  at,  so  many  odd  nooks  and  corners,  that  before  the 
eight  pairs  of  eyes  were  dry  their  owners  were  all  scudding 
and  burrowing  about  like  so  many  rabbits.  What  a  de 
lightful  time  they  had !  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you  all  the 
games  they  played,  and  the  comical  talks  they  had,  nor 
how  they  "dressed  up"  in  the  old  hats  and  garments  they 
found  hanging  on  the  nails,  nor  how  the  boys  made  the 
girls  scream  by  crying,  "  Look  out !  a  rat !  kill  him !  kill 
him!"  and  then  flinging  their  victim  across  the  floor  in  the 
shape  of  an  old  boot  or  a  bit  of  torn  fur.  At  last  Tommy 
looked  out  of  one  of  the  little  square  windows,  which  was 
half  covered  with  cobwebs.  "  I  say,  it 's  snowing  harder 
than  ever — there  'd  have  been  good  skating  by  to-morrow 
if  it  had  n't  snowed  ! " 

This  had  the  effect  of  making  all  the  party  serious  for  a 
moment. 

"  It  is  n't  so  very  bad,"  said  Euth,  who  always  looked  on  the 
bright  side  of  things.  "  There  '11  be  splendid  snowballing." 

"  Who  cares  for  snowballing ! "  cried  little  Dickie, 
"skatin'  's  the  best." 

Everybody  laughed  at  this,  for  Dickie  was  only  six 
years  old,  and  could  n't  skate  a  stroke,  not  even  on  roller 
skates. 


218  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Suddenly  Wilbur  cried,  "Oh!"  and  stood  motionless, 
looking  steadily  at  the  floor.  Eob  Hew  to  him  like  a  good 
brother,  as  he  was,  and  gave  him  a  poke. 

"  What  on  earth  's  the  matter,  Wilbur  ? " 

"  Nothing.  Only  I  bet  we  could !  Sure  as  I  live  we 
could ! " 

"  Could  wliat  ?  "  cried  Tommy. 

"Why,  make  a  skating-pond  here,  right  here,  in  this 
very  garret ! " 

"  Yes,  you  could,"  sneered  Tommy,  who,  by  the  way,  was 
the  only  fellow  who  had  taken  off  his  hat ;  Euth  had  ex 
cused  the  others  because  the  garret  wTas  not  very  warm. 

"  I  tell  you,  I  could,  man.  I  say,  Ned,  let  's  do  it !  We 
can  have  a  pond  here  before  night.  You  have  a  bath-room 
on  the  next  floor,  have  n't  you  ?  Here  are  pots  and  pans 
enough  for  all  of  us." 

All  the  eight  stared  at  Wilbur,  as  if  they  thought  his 
wits  were  leaving  him,  but  he  added  eagerly: 

"  I  tell  you,  it  will  be  grand.  We  '11  have  as  big  a  circle 
as  we  can  get  here  in  the  middle  of  the  garret,  and  make  a 
bank  out  of  that  clay,  after  we  Ve  moistened  it  so  it  will 
stick  together.  Clay  holds  water  perfectly.  Then  we  '11 
fill  up  the  circle  with  water." 

Their  eyes  danced  at  this,  but  Tommy  chilled  their 
ardor  with  a  sarcastic — 

"  Ho  !  skate  on  water  !  ho  ! " 

"  We  '11  open  the  scuttle  and  -  the  windows,  and  let  the 
pond  freeze  overnight "  said  Wilbur. 

"  Jimminy  ! "  screamed  Ned  ;  "  so  we  can  !  Come  on 
here;  we  '11  have  the  bank  in  a  jiffy  ! " 


A    GARRET  ADVENTURE  219 

"  Hurrah  ! "  cried  the  rest. 

In  an  instant  all  hands  were  at  work — all  but  Euth, 
who  looked  troubled,  and  begged  Dot  to  "go  down  and 
ask  Mama."  She  should  have  gone  herself,  for  Dot  was 
only  six  years  old,  and  a  very  uncertain  young  person  in 
the  art  of  carrying  messages. 

Soon  Dot,  clambering  down  two  sets  of  stairs,  rushed  into 
her  mother's  room  with,  "  Mama.  Euth  wants  to  know  if 
we  can  do  it  ?  " 

"  Do  what,  Dot  ?  (Mother,  do  look  at  that  child's  cheeks 
—they  're  just  like  roses.)  Do  what,  my  pet  ?" 

"  Why,  play  bank  with  the  clay,"  panted  Dot. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  I  must,"  laughed  the  mother.  "  Tell 
her  yes,  Dot."  As  the  little  girl  ran  out  of  the  room  and 
up  the  stairs,  screaming,  "Yes,  yes,  Mama  says  you  can 
do  it,"  Mrs.  Brant  said  to  Grandma,  "  I  ought  to  go  up,  I 
suppose.  But  they  can't  do  more  than  make  a  mess  with 
it,  and  they  can  clear  it  all  up  to-morrow.  If  I  were  you, 
Mother,  I  'd  never  let  Madame  Pomfret  make  me  a  gown 
again.  I  can  improve  this  a  little,  but  the  cut  was  all 
wrong  in  the  first  place." 

"You  're  too  easy  with  those  children,  Eliza,"  said 
Grandma,  quietly,  adding,  as  Mrs.  Brant  hurriedly  took 
up  her  sewing  again,  "  but  they  're  such  dear  little  things, 
I  don't  wonder  you  like  to  make  'em  happy." 

"  Good  ! "  cried  Ned,  when  Dot's  happy  message  was  de 
livered.  "  Mother  's  splendid.  I  say,  we  must  fill  up  all 
these  cracks  with  the  clay,  boys." 

"  You  're  sure  Mother  said  we  could,  Dot  ? " 

"  Course  she  did,"  said  Dot,  decidedly.  "  She  laughed,  too." 


220  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Poor  little  Dot  had  no  idea  that  she  had  told  her  mother 
only  half  of  their  plan.  Her  own  head  was  so  full  of  it  that 
she  thought  every  one  else  must  know  all  about  it,  too.  As 
for  Euth,  she  being  three  years  older,  could  not  help  being 
surprised  at  their  mother's  consent  to  such  wild  fun,  yet 
she  never  dreamed  but  that  her  mother  had  consented. 
It  was  a  time  of  deep  delight  to  her,  for  she  could  work  as 
hard  as  any  of  the  boys. 

In  a  little  while  the  bank  was  made.  "Many  hands 
make  light  work."  It  was  a  fine  affair,  well  packed  and 
quite  regular  in  shape,  for  Wilbur  had  chalked  a  circle  on 
the  floor  for  them  "  to  work  by." 

So  before  very  long  Ned  and  Tommy  took  two  pails  that 
were  in  a  corner  of  the  garret  and  ran  to  the  bath-room 
for  water.  Euth  gave  a  pitcher  to  Jamie,  a  basin  to  Her 
bert,  a  tub  to  Wilbur,  and,  seizing  a  big  earthen  jar  for 
herself,  gave  the  word  for  all  to  follow. 

It  was  hard  work,  but  it  passed  for  play,  and  they  all 
played  with  a  will.  They  let  the  water  run  from  both  of 
the  faucets  into  the  bath-tub,  so  that  after  a  while  some 
could  fill  at  the  faucets  and  others  could  dip  as  much 
water  as  they  wished  out  of  the  tub. 

Up  and  down,  down  and  up,  the  laughing  children  went, 
panting  and  puffing,  filling  and  pouring,  bucketful,  pailful, 
pitcherful,  basinful,  crockful,  over  and  over  again,  till  at 
last  the  pond  began  to  show  in  earnest.  Wilbur  seized  an 
old  spade  out  of  a  broken  cradle,  and  had  as  much  as  he 
could  do  to  watch  the  clay  bank,  and  mend  breaks,  and 
beat  it  solid  with  the  back  of  the  spade. 

"Keep  on  !  keep  on  ! "  shouted  Ned,  still  leading  the  way, 


A    GARRET  ADVENTURE  221 

while  the  rest  followed.     "We  '11  have  her  full  in  less  than 
no  time." 

"  Eliza  ! "  said  Grandma,  "  do  hear  the  tramping.  What 
on  earth  can  those  children  be  doing  ? " 

"  Oh,"  laughed  Mrs.  Brant,  "  they  're  playing  some  game 
or  other.  Betsey  '11  look  after  them.  She  's  busy  up-stairs, 
for  I  hear  the  water  running." 

"  It  's  mighty  queer,"  said  Ned,  dashing  in  a  pailful,  as 
Euth  emptied  her  crock  for  the  twentieth  time — "  mighty 
queer  how  long  it  takes  the  thing  to  fill — but  keep  on, 
fellows.  Don't  stop  !  " 

In  a  few  moments  the  street  door  opened,  and  in  came 
Mr.  Brant.  He  went  at  once  up  to  the  sewing-room. 

"  How  d'  ye  do,  how  d'  ye  do  ? "  said  he  cheerily,  kissing 
Mrs.  Brant  and  his  mother.    "  Well,  this  is  a  busy  party— 
put  up  your  work,  my  dear,  and  come  up  to  the  library— 
I  've  something  to  tell  you  and  Mother.     Ho  !  ho  !  here  's 
baby  awake.     Well,  we  must  take  him  up,  too." 

Baby  shouted  with  delight  to  find  himself  in  Papa's 
arms.  Mrs.  Brant  laid  down  her  work,  Grandma  took  her 
crochet-basket  in  her  hand,  and  they  all  went  up  to  Papa's 
light,  pleasant  library  on  the  floor  above. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  what  is  it  ?  Some  good  news,  I  'm 
sure,"  said  Mrs.  Brant,  as  Grandma  nestled  in  her  easy 
chair,  and  Papa,  setting  baby  on  the  floor  with  a  toss  and  a 
flourish,  proceeded  to  place  a  chair  for  himself  between 
his  wife  and  mother. 

"  Yes,  it  is  good  news,  dear,  I  'm  happy  to  say,"  he  an 
swered,  with  a  bright  smile.  "  I  don't  know  when  I  've 


A    GARRET  ADVENTURE  223 

had  anything  so  pleasant  to — Halloa,  what  the  mischief  's 
the  matter  ? " 

They  started  up.  Surely  enough,  something  was  the 
matter.  It  was  raining !  A  shower  was  coming  down  on 
their  heads,  the  ceiling  was  cracking,  the  baby  screaming. 
Patter,  patter  came  the  water,  faster  and  faster.  What 
could  it  be  ?  Perhaps  the  house  was  on  fire  and  the  fire 
men  already  were  up-stairs  with  their  hose  !  The  thought 
made  Grandmother  scream  as  she  rushed  to  the  baby's 
rescue.  Mr.  Brant  dashed  up  the  stairs,  almost  knocking 
down  Dot  and  Kob  on  the  way. 

"  What 's  going  on  up  here  ?  Quick  !  where  does  the 
water  come  from  ? " 

No  need  of  asking  the  question.  There  were  the  pond, 
the  startled  faces  of  the  children,  the  pitchers,  basins  and 
pails. 

"  What  in  the  world ! "  cried  the  father,  seizing  a  pail 
and  scooping  up  as  much  as  he  could  from  the  pond. 
"  Here,  lend  a  hand,  all  of  you !  Call  Betsey !  we  must 
empty  this  as  quickly  as  possible." 

He  had  opened  the  little  window  by  this  time,  had 
emptied  the  pail,  and  was  now  dipping  from  the  pond 
again.  The  children  meantime  took  the  hint,  and,  opening 
the  other  window,  went  to  work  as  hard  as  they  could. 
Well,  they  emptied  the  pond  in  a  quarter  of  the  time  it 
had  taken  to  fill  it.  Mrs.  Brant,  Grandma  and  Betsey  came 
to  the  rescue  and  did  wonders  with  towels,  sheets  and 
everything  of  that  sort  they  could  lay  their  hands  on.  In 
her  excitement,  Mrs.  Brant  came  near  wiping  the  floor 
with  the  baby. 


224  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

The  worst  was  soon  over,  but  it  seemed  the  library 
ceiling  could  n't  get  over  it  in  a  hurry.  It  dripped,  and 
dripped,  and  broke  out  in  great  damp  blotches  and  cracked 
and  whimpered  as  if  it  were  alive.  Fortunately,  the  con 
tents  of  the  bookcases  escaped  wetting,  and  the  carpet 
did  n't  "run,"  as  Grandma  said;  so  it  might  have  been  worse. 

But  those  six  visitors  —  who  shall  describe  their  emo 
tions  !  As  one  of  them  afterward  said,  they  "were  fright 
ened  to  death  and  bursting  with  laughter."  They  all  tried 
to  hide  behind  one  another  when  Mr.  Brant,  half  angry,  half 
amused,  asked  them  what  they  would  like  to  do  next. 

"  Go  home,  sir,  I  guess,"  said  Tommy. 

And  home  they  went. 


BORROWING   TROUBLE 


'HE    LAY    ON    THE     SOFT    GRASS     UNDER    HIS    FAVORITE    TREE,    PONDERING 

THE  JESTER'S  WORDS." 


BOEKOWING  TROUBLE 

A  FEW  hundred  years  ago,  there  lived  near  Florence  a 
handsome  little  prince  and  a  beautiful  little  princess. 
These  two  children  had  everything  that  a  good  human 
heart  of  that  day  could  have,  excepting  trouble.  It  seemed 
that  this  could  not  come  to  them.  From  the  day  that  a 
careless  lady  of  the  court  had  remarked  in  Francesca's 
presence,  "Ah,  Leonardo  !  thou  well  mayst  say  this  world 
has  trouble  enough  for  all,"  the  little  princess  had  won 
dered  what  trouble  was,  and  why,  if  there  was  enough  for 
all,  she  and  her  brother  had  none  of  it.  Often  the  princess 
would  say : 

"  Ferdinand,  what  is  trouble  ? "  And  Ferdinand  would 
reply :  "Alas  !  Francesca,  I  do  not  know." 

"Let  us  ask  our  parents  to  give  us  some,"  pursued  Fran 
cesca  ;  "  they  never  refuse  us  anything." 

But  the  king  and  queen  shuddered  at  their  request : 

"  No,  no,  dear  children,"  they  cried ;  "  you  do  not  know 

227 


228  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

what  you  ask.  Pray  that  these  wicked  wishes  may  vanish 
from  your  hearts  ! " 

But  the  prince  and  princess  were  not  satisfied  with  this 
answer.  They  applied  to  the  most  powerful  of  their  cour 
tiers,  and,  to  their  great  astonishment,  met  with  a  refusal, 
accompanied  with  a  smile  and  a  polite  bow.  They  even 
had  recourse  to  the  court  jester. 

"Ah,  that  trouble  is  a  very  precious  thing,"  said  the 
jester.  "  One  cannot  buy  it,  and  it  is  not  to  be  had  for  the 
asking.  But  one  may  borrow  it." 

"  Good ! "  cried  the  delighted  pair.  "  We  shall  borrow 
some." 

"  But,"  added  the  jester,  "  if  you  borrow  any,  you  must 
pay  back  in  the  same  coin." 

"Alas  ! "  sighed  the  prince  and  the  princess.  "  How  can 
we,  if  we  have  no  trouble  which  belongs  to  us  ? " 

"  True !  There  is  the  trouble,"  said  the  jester,  as  he 
skipped  away. 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  those  words  ? "  said  the  prince, 
nearly  out  of  patience ;  "  but  we  need  not  concern  our 
selves  about  what  he  says — he  is  only  a  fool ! " 

Still  the  prince  did  concern  himself  about  it,  and  he  lay 
long  on  the  soft  grass  under  his  favorite  tree  that  day, 
pondering  the  jester's  words. 

The  princess  sought  Master  Cap-and-Bells  again,  but 
the  interview  ended  sadly ;  for  her  little  highness  turned 
away  despairingly,  and  the  jester  looked  sorely  puzzled. 
"  What  stupidity,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  for  the  whole 
court  to  be  compelled  to  keep  this  royal  youth  and  maiden 
in  ignorance  of  such  a  fact  as  trouble — the  common  lot  of 


BORROWING   TROUBLE 


229 


'THE     INTERVIEW     ENDED     SADLY. 


all ! "  But  he  flourished  his  bauble  and  jingled  his  bells  as 
he  danced  off — for  was  he  not  the  court  jester  ? 

Next,  in  despair,  the  brother  and  sister  went  in  search 
of  their  faithful  nurse. 

"  Dear  Catherine,"  said  they,  "  we  have  never  had  any 
trouble.  The  contessa  told  my  lord  Leonardo  that  there  was 
enough  in  this  world  for  all.  Have  you  had  yours  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  darlings  ;  I  have  always  had  more  trouble 
than  I  want,"  wailed  the  old  woman,  shaking  her  head. 

"Oh,  oh !  Give  us  some  !  Give  us  some,  good  Catherine!" 
eagerly  exclaimed  the  prince  and  princess. 

But  Catherine  lifted  her  hands  in  horror,  and  tottered 
away,  mumbling  her  prayers. 

15* 


230  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Then  the  prince  and  princess  wandered  into  the  garden, 
and  sat  down  upon  a  mossy  seat. 

"  Nobody  will  give  us  what  we  have  asked  for,"  said 
Francesca.  "It  is  very  cruel." 

"  Yes,  very  cruel,"  replied  Ferdinand,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Our  parents  never  refused  us  before,"  resumed  Francesca. 

"  Never  !  "  echoed  Ferdinand. 

"  Nor  the  courtiers,"  added  Francesca, 

"  Nor  the  courtiers,"  echoed  Ferdinand. 

"  Nor  our  dear  old  nurse,"  said  Francesca,  with  a  strange 
feeling  in  her  eyes. 

"  Nor  our  dear  nurse." 

"  It  is  ingratitude  ! " 

"  Very  great  ingratitude  ! " 

"  It  is  cruelty  ! "  finished  Francesca,  with  sobs  ;  "  and  my 
eyes  are  all  wet !  Are  yours,  Ferdinand  ? " 

"  No,  Francesca.     But  there  is  a  choking  in  my  throat." 

Just  then  the  chief  gardener  came  that  way. 

"  My  dear  prince  and  princess ! "  he  exclaimed,  throw 
ing  himself  on  his  knees  before  them.  "  You  are  sad  !  are 
weeping !  Oh,  Heaven !  to  think  that  these  noble  and 
beautiful  children  should  have  so  much  trouble." 

"  Trouble  ! "  echoed  Ferdinand  and  Francesca.  "  Is  this 
trouble,  Antonio  ? " 

"Assuredly,  I  think  so,"  said  Antonio,  much  puzzled. 

Then  the  prince  and  princess  arose  gaily  and  clapped 
their  hands,  and  ran  to  the  palace  as  happy  as  two  birds. 
Their  wish  had  been  gratified  at  last. 


HEAVIEE   THAN   AIE 


THE    PICTURE    IN    THE    GALLERY. 


HEAVIER   THAN   AIR 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  two  little  French  children,  while  being 
led  through  a  picture-gallery,  suddenly  came  upon  a  very 
startling  painting  by  the  French  artist  Verlat.  In  vain 
their  lonne,  or  nurse,  tried  to  draw  them  away.  They 
either  were  too  much  frightened,  or  too  much  amused,  to 
stir  from  the  spot. 

"  0  Matilde  ! "  they  cried,  still  gazing  at  the  picture, 
"  what  does  it  mean  ?  What  is  it  all  about  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Matilde.  "  Come  away.  Those  dread 
ful,  ugly  things  will  bite  you.  Come,  Henri !" 

"Ho!"  retorted  Henri,  stoutly.  "How  can  a  picture 
bite  ?  Oh  !  if  Mama  were  only  here  to  tell  us  how  the 
poor  monkeys  got  up  in  the  air  so  high!" 

"  I  know  how  the  blackest  one  got  there,"  said  the  other 
child;  "the  white  one  pulled  him  up  with  his  tail." 

Henri  laughed  at  this,  but  after  the  sober  manner  of 
one  who  has  a  great  deal  on  his  mind:  "  No,  no,  Marie,  he 
did  n't  go  up  that  way.  /  think  he  's  holding  on  to  that 
fellow's  tail  now  so  that  he  may  not  fall." 

233 


234  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Oh !  oh ! "  exclaimed  Marie,  with  eager  sympathy. 
"  That  's  it !  They  're  both  going  to  fall  in  a  minute. 
That  's  why  they  look  so  frightened.  0  Monsieur  3 "  she 
added,  running  up  to  an  old  gentleman  who  stood  near  by, 
"  don't  you  think  those  monkeys  are  going  to  tumble  ?  " 

The  bonne  caught  her  arm  with  an  angry  "Hist ! "  but 
the  kind  old  gentleman  turned  to  look  at  the  picture 
with  Marie. 

"  Yes,  my  little  one,"  he  answered  with  a  smile ;  "  in 
one  instant  more  those  poor  fellows  will  be  whirling  down, 
down,  to  certain  destruction." 

"  Eight  upon  the  roofs  ? "  Marie  asked,  with  her  eyes 
very  wide  open. 

"  Eight  upon  the  roofs.     You  see  the  balloon  is  burst." 

Henri  nodded  wisely.  He  began  to  suspect  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  I  suppose,  Monsieur,  the  monkeys  tried  to  go  up  in  a 
balloon,  and  it  hit  against  something  and  bursted,  and  — 

"  Hit  against  wlicit  thing,  my  little  man  ? " 

Henri  and  Marie  peered  into  the  picture.  Marie,  with 
a  questioning  glance  at  Monsieur,  pointed  to  the  little 
balloon  in  the  corner;  but  he  shook  his  head.  At  last 
Henri  said: 

"  I  think  it  broke  its  own  self." 

"  Eight ! "  said  Monsieur.  "  If  Mademoiselle  will  permit, 
I  will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

The  bonne  looked  troubled,  wondering  what  Madame 
would  say  when  she  heard  that  the  children  had  been  al 
lowed  to  talk  with  a  stranger.  But  she  nodded  her  head, 
and  the  old  gentleman  seated  himself  on  a  chair  that 


HEAVIER  THAN  AIR  235 

chanced  to  be  near  by,  and  asked  the  children  if  they  had 
ever  seen  a  balloon. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Marie;  "don't  you  remember,  Henri, 
how  we  saw  one  on  the  Emperor's  birthday  sailing  up  way 
over  the  Champs  de  Mars  ?  But  it  was  n't  a  bit  like  this 
thing,  and  it  had  n't  any  monkeys  in  it.  It  was  like  the 
little  one  up  there  in  the  picture." 

"  That  looks  little,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  because  it 
is  very  far  off  in  the  air.  /  have  been  up  in  a  balloon  even 
higher  than  that." 

The  children  stared  first  at  Monsieur,  then  at  the  picture, 
and  Marie  asked  timidly : 

"With  a  monkey  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  he  laughed, "  not  with  a  monkey.  But  once  I 
went  up  at  night  with  a  scientific  friend,  and  we  took  a 
carrier-pigeon  with  us.  We  let  him  loose  with  a  note  tied 
under  his  wing  telling  his  owner  that  we  were  safe  and 
happy  and  more  than  a  mile  high.  And,  another  time,  two 
friends  and  myself  went  up  in  late  autumn,  and  actually 
sailed  into  a  snow-storm,  high,  high  over  the  world,  and 
with  clouds  both  above  and  below  us." 

Marie  hardly  heard.     She  was  gazing  at  the  picture. 

"Ah !  I  see  you  must  be  satisfied  about  those  apes  be 
fore  you  will  listen  to  anything  more.  One  cannot  tell 
from  a  picture  all  that  has  been  happening ;  but  /  think 
this :  I  think  those  two  monkeys  belonged  to  a  public 
garden,  and  one  day,  when  a  balloon  was  going  to  make  its 
ascent  from  there,  the  monkeys  jumped  in  before  any 
one  could  stop  them,  and  loosened  the  cords  that  held  the 
balloon  down,  and  up  it  rose  high  in  the  air,  amid  the 


WE    TOOK    A    CARRIER-PIGEON    WITH    US. 


HEAVIER   THAN  AIR  237 

shouts  and  screams  of  the  spectators.  At  first  it  was  all 
very  fine;  they  enjoyed  their  sail  and  crouched  in  the 
bottom  of  the  balloon-car,  chattering  to  each  other  at  a 
great  rate,  for  they  had  no  idea  of  their  danger.  The  bal 
loon  was  kept  up  in  the  air  by  its  great,  big,  varnished 
silk  bag,  being  full  of  hydrogen  gas,  which  is  about  sixteen 
times  lighter  than  air—  Then  Henri  spoke : 

"  Did  it  float  in  the  air  something  as  soap-bubbles  do  ? 
because  they  're  so  much  lighter  than  anything  else." 

"  Yes,"  said  Monsieur,  wondering  whether  it  were  worth 
while  to  explain  that  the  soap-bubble  is  just  a  bag  made 
of  a  very  thin  sheet  of  water  and  filled  with  warm  breath. 
"Anything  that  is  lighter  than  air,  if  set  free,  will  rise.  But 
the  air  grows  thinner  and  lighter  the  higher  one  goes  up 
above  the  earth,  and  when  a  balloon  gets  into  very  thin 
air,  the  gas  within  the  bag,  finding  that  it  is  not  pressed  upon 
so  much  by  the  heavy  air  outside,  begins  to  swell  and  try  to 
get  out ;  and  the  higher  it  goes,  the  more  the  gas  pushes, 
until,  at  last,  it  bursts  the  bag — tlicn  what  happens?" 

"  The  monkeys  get  frightened,"  said  Marie,  gazing  earn 
estly  at  the  picture. 

Henri  was  older  and  wiser ;  so  he  answered  that  "  most 
likely  the  balloon  would  all  shrivel  and  tumble  down  if 
the  gas  came  out  of  it,  just  as  a  toy  balloon  would  if  some 
one  should  prick  it." 

"  Very  good,"  assented  Monsieur.  "  Now,  in  the  top  of 
all  balloons  there  is  a  valve  or  little  door  for  letting  out  the 
gas  when  it  begins  to  swell,  and  a  man  seated  in  the  bal 
loon-car  has  only  to  pull  a  certain  string  when  he  wishes 
to  open  the  valve.  But  our  monkeys  knew  nothing  of 


238  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

this.  And  so,  after  a  while,  their  balloon  burst  with  a 
terrible  bang,  and  at  once  began  to  tumble  and  pitch  about 
at  such  a  rate  that  the  poor  fellows  were  bumped  out  of  the 
car  and  had  to  hold  on  to  the  wreck  as  well  as  they  could ; 
for,  now  that  the  gas  was  out,  their  balloon  was  heavier 
than  the  air,  and  would  have  to  go  down." 

"  It  's  awful  to  be  a  monkey  way  up  in  a  balloon,  when 
it 's  all  bursted,"  said  Marie,  nearly  ready  to  cry.  "  Oh  ! "  she 
added,  suddenly  turning  her  earnest  blue  eyes  full  upon 
Monsieur's  face.  "I  do  wish  you  had  gone  with  them,  so 
you  could  have  pulled  the  string  ! " 

Monsieur  laughed,  but  the  bonne  stepped  briskly  for 
ward,  fearing  that  her  little  charge  was  growing  too 
talkative. 

"  Now,  children,  thank  the  kind  gentleman,  and  come 
home  to  Mama." 

Marie  took  her  hand  willingly ;  but  Henri  had  another 
question  to  ask : 

"  What  word  is  that,  Monsieur,  printed  on  the  balloon 
in  the  corner  ? " 

"  Montgolfier,  the  name  of  two  brothers.  They  were 
the  first  men  who  ever  sent  a  balloon  up  in  the  air.  This 
was  in  the  summer-time,  about  a  hundred  years  ago." 

"  Where  did  they  get  the  gas  ? "  asked  Henri,  hurriedly, 
for  the  lonne  was  looking  at  him,  with  her  lips  pressed 
impatiently. 

"They  did  n't  use  gas  at  all,  my  boy;  they  kindled  a 
fire,  and  filled  the  bag  with  smoke.  They  thought  the 
smoke  carried  up  the  balloon,  but  in  reality  it  was  the  hot 
air,  which  is  very  much  lighter  than  ordinary  air." 


HEAVIER   THAN  AIR 


239 


BALLOONING    THROUGH    A     SNOW-STORM. 


"  Oh ! "  said  Henri,  as  the  bonne  took  hold  of  his  hand, 
"  I  do  wish  I  could  stay  all  day  and  hear  more  about  bal 
loons,  and  how  often  you  have  been  up  in  them ! " 

"  So  do  I.  Ask  your  papa,  my  boy.  He  can  tell  you, 
I  think,  all  about  Montgolh'er,  and  Lunardi,  and  Gay- 
Lussac,  and  Glaisher,  and— 

"0  Matilde!"  cried  Henri,  "do  stop  your  pulling!    Good 


240 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


day,  Monsieur — I  'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Monsieur 
—if  it  was  n't  for  Matilde,  I  'd— 

And  out  stalked  Matilde  through  the  doorway  with  the 
children,  one  on  each  side  of  her;  both  looking  back — 
Henri  at  the  old  gentleman,  and  Marie  at  the  picture. 

"0  Matilde!"  cried  Henry  indignantly,  when  they 
reached  the  street,  "you  cruel  Matilde!  not  to  let  me 
wait  and  hear  all  about  Lunardac,  and  Glaishac,  and 
Montgolfy,  and  all  the  rest." 

"  That  's  too  bad ! "  said  Marie,  looking  sympathetically 
at  him  across  Matilde's  skirts.  "  I  'd  like  to  hear  about 
'em  too — were  they  monkeys?" 


BACK     TO     EARTH     AGAIN. 


WHAT   THE   SNOW-MAN   DID 


L6 


WHAT   THE   SNOW-MAN   DID 

IT  was  twelve  years  ago,  and  midwinter.  There  had 
been  good  skating  at  Kockville  for  nearly  a  week ;  but,  on 
a  certain  cold  Friday,  it  suddenly  began  to  snow.  The 
great  white  flakes  came  down,  slowly  at  first,  then  more 
rapidly,  until  the  air  seemed  a  tumultuous  mass  of  eider 
down.  Then  the  ground,  the  fences,  the  trees,  began  to 
take  their  share,  and  the  whole  country-side  grew  white. 
In  the  city,  not  far  off,  people  bemoaned  the  "  bad  walking  " 
that  already  threatened  them  ;  but  country  folk  as  promptly 
looked  forward  to  sleigh-rides  and  frolic. 

The  boys  and  girls  of  Kockville  reveled  in  the  discus 
sion  of  various  plays  for  Saturday  if  it  should  keep  on 
snowing.  Thoughts  of  snowballing,  fort-building,  coast 
ing,  and  all  kinds  of  snow  sport  scurried  through  their  busy 
young  noddles  ;  and,  as  soon  as  they  came  out  of  school,  the 
boys  and  girls  divided  off  into  merry  groups,  some  eagerly 
chatting,  some  frolicking  in  the  soft  snow ;  while  a  party 
of  five  boys  dashed  off  toward  the  large,  frozen  pond  half 
a  mile  away.  These  were  the  shinny-boys.  They  had 
agreed  to  play  a  game  of  shinny  on  the  ice  after  school 


243 


244  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

the  next  day ;  but,  now,  as  the  snow  threatened  to  stop 
their  promised  sport,  they  had  decided  not  to  wait,  but  to 
have  their  game  at  once. 

The  beautiful  storm  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun ; 
but  that  night  the  snow  came  again, — and  this  time  to  con 
tinue  until  morning.  Then  youthful  existence  in  that  region 
was  comprised  in  the  term,  "lots  of  fun."  The  coasting- 
hill  was  crowded  on  that  Saturday.  Snow  forts,  hastily 
erected,  became  scenes  of  bold  attack  and  desperate  de 
fense,  and  three  hardy  boys  proceeded  to  make  the  biggest 
ball  of  snow  ever  seen  in  that  locality ;  it  grew  and  grew 
until  it  reached  to  their  shoulders,  and  finally  it  was  as 
much  as  the  three  could  do  to  roll  it  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  called  in  Bockville  —  by  the  young  ladies  "the 
Lovers'  Leap " ;  and  by  the  boys  "  Clifford's  Jump,"  be 
cause  a  daring  young  fellow  of  that  name  really  had 
jumped  from  it  once, — and  had  taken  a  good,  long  rest 
in  the  hospital  afterward. 

Well,  the  mammoth  ball — after  the  boys'  ecstatic  "  One, 
two,  three  I  Let  her  go  /" — went  over  "  Clifford's  Jump  "  in 
fine  style.  It  dashed  down  the  steep  descent,  distributing 
itself  in  blocks  and  fragments  as  it  went, — and  was  soon 
forgotten.  The  shinny-pond  had  yielded  overnight  to  cir 
cumstances  and  become  as  white  as  its  own  level  shores. 
Before  dusk  the  forts  were  demolished  or  abandoned,  and 
snow-day  foes  returned  to  the  ways  of  peace. 

Meantime,  four  fine  fellows, — Hal  McDougal,  Charley 
Green,  and  Sydney  Burton  and  his  brother  Will, — eager  to 
enjoy  their  Saturday  to  the  utmost,  had  assembled  after 
early  breakfast  behind  the  McDougal  cottage. 


WHAT  THE  SNOW-MAN  DID 


245 


THE     SHINNY     BOYS     HAVE     THEIR     GAME. 


"  Shall  we  build  a  fort,  or  a  what  ? "  asked  Charley 
Green. 

"A  what,"  responded  Sydney  Burton,  promptly. 

"  Oh,  bother  ! "  retorted  Charley  ;  "  don't  begin  your 
fooling.  I  mean,  shall  we  build  a  fort  or  a  man  ?  I  vote 
for  the  man." 

"  And  I  '111  for  a  fort,"  put  in  Will. 
10* 


246  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  It  will  be  twice  the  fun  to  make  a  snow-man,  Will," 
said  his  brother  Sydney  ;  "  won't  it,  Charley  ? " 

Now,  Charley  had  a  way  of  saying  "  Of  course  "  that  was 
worth  a  bushel  of  arguments  to  a  boy  like  Will ;  so  when 
he  said  "  Of  course,"  and  Hal  added  scornfully,  "  Who 
wants  a  fort  ? "  the  thing  was  settled :  a  man  it  should  be. 

Nearly  all  day  the  boys  worked.  A  strong  clothes-pole 
served  as  a  backbone  around  which  the  figure  was  built 
from  the  ground  upward.  None  of  them  had  ever  made  a 
snow-man  before,  and  to  make  a  large,  well-shaped  one  was 
not  a  very  easy  task.  Even  with  their  determination  to 
have  him  well  proportioned,  he  turned  out,  as  Sydney  con 
fessed,  to  be  "rather  short  for  his  thickness";  and  Will's 
plan  of  helping  this  trouble,  by  piling  the  snow  on  top 
of  the  big  white  head,  did  n't  work  well  at  all.  Still  he 
would  insist  upon  holding  up  great  balls,  and  shouting: 
"  Help  yourself,  Syd,—  pile  up  ! " 

And  Sydney  as  resolutely  shouted  back : 

"Don't  want  it.  I  tell  you  he  's  got  twice  too  much 
forehead  already." 

"  Fudge  !  "  Charley  would  say  ;  "  take  it,  Syd, — make  it 
into  a  hat." 

"A  hat  would  n't  do  any  good,"  Sydney  would  insist, 
from  the  top  of  the  barrel  on  which  he  was  standing ;  "  not 
a  bit  of  good ;  the  man  himself  is  out  of  proportion. 
Don't  you  understand  ?  I  Ve  taken  a  heap  from  the  top  of 
his  noble  brow  already.  Do  you  know  I  wish  this  chap 
were  marble  instead  of  snow  ?  I  've  been  thinking,  ever 
since  we  began,  T  'd  like  to  make  a  statue  in  earnest." 

Meantime,  Hal  McDougal,  shaping  the  arm,  fell  to  think- 


WHAT  THE  SNOW-MAN  DID  247 

ing  that  if  one  had  to  get  up  a  contrivance  that  would 
do  all  that  a  boy's  arm  does,  what  a  task  it  would  be !  and, 
anyhow,  what  a  wonderful  thing  a  real  arm  was,  with 
its  muscles  and  sinews  and  all  the  little  blood-vessels  and 
jig-a-rigs.  And  then  the  rest  of  the  machine — the  heart 
and  lungs  and  brain  — he  wished  he  knew  all  about  them; 
he  'd  study  it  all  out  some  day.  Yes !  he  would  begin 
straight  off  reading  anatomy  in  the  evenings  —  declare 
if  he  would  n't.  All  this  time  he  said  nothing,  but  kept 
on  shaping  the  sleeve,  whistling  and  trying  to  build  out 
something  like  a  fist. 

Charley  Green,  the  oldest  boy  of  them  all,  did  n't  care 
anything  about  the  height  of  the  forehead,  nor  did  he 
trouble  his  brain  by  comparing  this  solid  man  of  snow 
with  the  wonderful  human  animal.  What  bothered  him 
was  the  snow  itself. 

"  It 's  a  gay  old  puzzle,  anyway,"  he  thought, — "this  water. 
I  don't  wonder  the  Eastern  tyrant  had  that  traveler  put 
to  death  (if  it  was  the  law  to  bowstring  liars)  who  said 
that  in  his  country  water  was  sometimes  like  a  cloud, 
sometimes  like  a  feather,  sometimes  like  solid  blocks  of 
glass.  Nobody  could  believe  it  unless  he  saw  it.  And 
then  —  hang  it  all! — they  tell  you  water  itself  is  made  of 
two  gases ;  and,  again,  that  there  's  water  in  everything  — 
even  in  dust.  I  'm  going  to  study  up  on  water.  I  'm  going 
to  find  out  what  this  sparkle  in  the  snow  means,  and  why 
melted  snow  tastes  different  from  other  water.  I  have  n't 
cared  for  chemistry  so  far;  but  I  '11  take  it  up  in  earnest, 
if  a  fellow  can  really  find  out  things  by  studying  it." 
"  Halloo !  Charley,"  scolded  Will  at  this  point ;  "  stop 


WHAT  THE  SNOW-MAN  DID  249 

blowing  your  mittens  and  looking  like  an  owl,  and  lend  a 
hand  here.  I  'in  in  for  breaking  off  this  military  gentle 
man's  head  and  building  him  up  higher,  and  clapping  it 
on  again.  The  shoulder-straps  are  easy  to  change." 

"  Fiddle  for  the  straps,"  broke  forth  Sydney,  quite  out 
of  patience.  "  If  you  heap  up  the  shoulders,  there  's  your 
body  too  long,  and  your  arms  too  short,  and  all  your 
features  too  little." 

"  That  would  n't  make  a  bit  of  difference,"  was  Will's 
ready  answer.  "  We  could  just  shift  the  belt  up,  and  I  'd 
alter  the  buttons  in  less  than  no  time.  Come  on,  Charley!" 

"  That  's  just  like  you,  Will,"  said  Sydney.  "  I  declare 
if  he  does  n't  think  more  of  regimentals  than  a  drum- 
major.  I  'm  goin'  to  scoop  out  the  legs — no  use  in  havin' 
the  old  general  run  down  all  in  one  solid  piece." 

"Who  would  n't  go  in  for  regimentals?"  retorted  Will. 
"  I  never  saw  anything  like  the  way  all  these  snow-buttons 
have  made  a  soldier  of  the  old  chap.  Why,  he  was  n't  any 
thing  without  them.  The  more  I  look  at  him,  the  more  T 
can  see  no  two  ways  about  it.  A  man,  whether  lie  's  flesh 
or  snow,  is  n't  more  than  half  a  man  till  you  make  him  a 
soldier." 

Don't  you  see  how  it  .all  ended  ?  Many  a  time  has  the 
grass  grown  green  and  withered  over  the  spot  where  the 
great  snow-soldier  melted  away;  but  the  thoughts  that 
came  into  those  four  boyish  heads  that  day  have  kept  on 
growing  and  gathering  strength.  How  little  they  knew 
then,  as  they  sang,  and  shouted,  and  whistled,  and  clapped 
the  snow  on  here  and  there,  that  the  fancies  flitting  to 


250  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

them  from  the  white  soldier  would  never  leave  them 
again  !  that  while  they  were  busily  shaping  his  body, 
head,  and  arms  to  their  satisfaction,  he  was  quietly  shaping 
them,  actually  molding  their  careers  ! 

Neither  did  haughty  Milly  Scott  imagine,  as  she  walked 
by  in  her  best  clothes,  that  the  snow-man  would  quite 
change  her  ways  of  thinking  and  acting;  nor  did  little 
Ben,  her  brother,  have  any  idea  that  the  same  shining 
white  soldier  would  make  him  a  prisoner  for  six  weeks— 
not  he.  Yet  these  things  all  came  to  pass. 

To-day,  Sydney  Burton  (I  do  not  give  you  his  real 
name)  is  a  sculptor  in  Eome  ;  his  brother,  Colonel  William 
Burton,  is  stationed  somewhere  on  our  Western  frontier ; 
Charley  Green  is  soon  to  be  made  professor  of  chemistry 
in  one  of  our  Northern  colleges ;  and  solemn  Hal  Mc- 
Dougal  is  studying  hard  in  the  French  Institute  of  Surgery. 

As  for  Master  Ben  Scott  and  his  sister  Milly,  perhaps 
I  should  have  told  you  about  them  sooner  in  the  story. 

Poor  Milly !  She  was  not  a  bad-hearted  girl,  but  she 
was  very  proud,  and  often  blind  to  the  feelings  of  others. 
She  cared  more  for  her  fine  clothes,  her  fancy  boots,  her 
wavy  hair,  than  for  anything  else  in  the  world,  except 
her  mother  and  father  and  little  Ben.  She  disliked  plain, 
unfashionable  people  exceedingly;  and  as  for  the  really 
poor  and  ragged,  they  seemed  to  her  too  disagreeable  to 
be  thought  of  for  an  instant.  She  always  avoided  the 
wretched  places  where  they  lived,  and  never  seemed  to 
suspect  that  the  little  children  whom  Christ  blessed  were 
not  all  dressed  in  fine  garments. 

On  this  particular  day,  she  had  seen  a  child  tumble  over 


WHAT  THE  SNOW-MAN  DID  251 

a  big  frozen  lump  on  the  road,  and  when  Ben  tried  to 
run  toward  it,  she  had  pulled  him  back,  saying: 

"  Stop,  Benny  !  Don't  touch  the  dirty  little  creature ! 
Let  her  alone  —  she  '11  stop  crying  in  a  minute." 

"  I  wish  I  could  give  her  a  pair  of  shoes,"  Ben  had  said ; 
"  her  feet  look  so  cold  ! " 

"  Oh !  poor  people  like  her  don't  feel  the  cold.  They 
are  used  to  going  barefoot,"  Milly  had  answered,  still  hurry 
ing  him  on. 

They  ended  their  homeward  walk  in  silence.  Benny 
was  feeling  sorry  for  the  very  shabby  and  unhappy  little 
girl,  and  Milly  was  trying  not  to  blame  herself,  or  at  least 
to  forget  that  pitiful  little  face  by  saying  to  herself:  "  It 's 
nothing  to  me,  anyway." 

That  night,  long  after  everybody  was  asleep,  the  snow- 
soldier  came  to  Milly. 

She  was  frightened  at  seeing  him  standing  near  her, 
but,  somehow,  she  could  n't  call  out  or  make  any  noise. 

"  Get  up  !  "  he  said  sternly. 

She  obeyed  him.  And  now  comes  the  strangest  part  of 
the  story.  She  was  Milly  still,  and  yet  so  light  that  she 
seemed  to  float  beside  him  out  of  the  room,  and  down  the 
stairs,  and  through  the  front  door,  and  straight  to  the 
wretched  part  of  the  city  where  the  poor  folks  lived. 
There  she  saw  men,  women,  and  children  huddled  together 
on  bare  floors  or  heaps  of  straw  and  rags,  with  scarcely  any 
thing  to  cover  their  poor,  shivering  bodies.  Whenever  the 
snow-man  put  his  head  in  at  the  windows  and  doors,  they 
would  shiver  worse  than  before,  and  utter  moans  that 


252  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

made  Milly  tremble.  In  one  place  she  saw  a  pale  young 
woman,  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  crouching  before  an 
empty  stove.  A  few  ashes  lay  on  the  hearth,  and  these 
would  light  up  a  little  whenever  the  mother  blew  upon 
them.  As  the  snow-man  rattled  the  broken  window- 
sash,  the  poor  woman  cried  bitterly,  and  tried  to  warm 
the  baby  by  holding  it  against  her  breast ;  but  Milly  knew, 
by  the  pinched  look  of  the  thin  baby-face,  that  it  was 
dying  of  hunger  and  cold. 

Other  sights  they  saw  that  made  Milly's  heart  ache 
as  it  never  had  ached  before;  and  when  she  asked  leave 
to  go  home  and  send  blankets  and  coal  and  wood  to  all 
these  poor  creatures,  he  held  her  back,  growling  : 

"  Come  on !  Poor  people  like  these  don't  feel  the  cold. 
They  're  used  to  it." 

This  sounded  so  cruel,  so  heartless,  that  Milly  drew 
back  in  horror.  Then  the  snow-man  vanished.  Whether 
he  floated  off  or  melted  away,  as  snow-men  often  do,  she 
never  knew.  But  one  tiling  is  quite  certain :  from  that 
night  Milly  began  to  improve.  One  does  not  in  a  twink 
ling  conquer  habits  of  selfish  indifference  and  gain  a  life 
of  good  deeds  and  kindly  sympathy  for  others.  But  Milly 
did  improve  wonderfully;  and  she  never  again  said:  "Oh! 
poor  folks  don't  feel  the  cold." 


KITTY'S    CANAKY 


KITTY'S  CANARY 

SUCH  a  pet  as  Fluffy  became  at  first  sight !  Papa  had 
bought  him  to  cheer  Kitty  when  she  was  recovering  from 
a  tedious  fever,  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  Fluffy  understood 
all  about  it.  He  appeared  hardly  to  care  for  himself  at  all, 
though  a  new  bird  in  a  strange  house  certainly  must  have 
lonely  and  uneasy  feelings  at  first.  Fluffy  never  had  lived 
the  free  out-of-door  life  that  birds  of  his  kind  always  enjoy 
in  the  Canary  Isles ;  but  he  had  come  from  a  beautiful, 
sunny  shop  where  there  were  rows  upon  rows  of  cages,  and 
all  the  birds  living  in  them  knew  one  another  by  note,  and 
were  sure  of  having  plenty  of  everything  to  make  them 
comfortable.  Mr.  Carr,  their  owner,  knew  how  important 
it  was  that  his  singers  should  be  well  cared  for,  and  he  al 
ways  gave  them  fresh  food  and  water  every  day. 

Whether  some  other  little  bird  told  him  or  not,  or  whe 
ther  Fluffy  heard  Kitty  softly  sobbing  because  the  doctor 
had  said  she  must  stay  in  the  house  for  a  week  longer,  no 
body  can  say.  I  only  know  that  as  soon  as  Fluffy's  cage 
was  hung  by  the  window  in  Kitty's  room,  the  little  fellow 
began  to  take  an  interest.  Yes,  really  to  take  an  interest. 


256  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Kitty  said  so.  He  hopped  from  one  perch  to  another, 
twitched  his  head  this  way  and  that,  glanced  about  him 
with  his  quick  little  black  eyes,  saw  that  Kitty  was  down 
hearted,  and  straightway  began  to  sing ! 

"  Cheer  up,  Kitty,"  he  seemed  to  say.  "  I  'in  here. 
Listen  ! "  And  then  a  trill,  so  sweet  and  soft  and  cheery, 
floated  around  the  room  and  through  the  open  window 
that  Kitty  brightened  up  wonderfully.  Everything  seemed 
different  to  her  in  an  instant.  To  be  confined  to  the  house 
for  a  few  days  longer  was  not  so  bad,  after  all ;  and  to 
be  well  enough  to  sit  up  and  watch  Fluffy,  why,  that  was 
perfectly  delightful !  And  what  a  dear,  pretty  little  crea 
ture  he  was — so  light  and  soft  and  helpless,  if  you  thought 
of  him  in  one  way ;  so  brave  and  wise  and  wonderful,  if 
you  thought  of  him  as  he  sat  there  cheering  little  Kitty ! 
How  he  hopped,  too :  now  to  the  floor  of  the  cage,  now  to 
the  perches,  now  to  the  seed-cup,  stopping  to  sing  at  almost 
every  turn  !  Kitty  said  it  made  her  laugh  to  think  how  she 
would  feel  if  she  were  to  jump  down  to  the  kitchen,  up  to  the 
roof,  out  in  the  garden,  in  at  the  window,  all  in  a  minute. 

But  \vas  n't  he  tired  ?  Did  n't  he  want  something  more 
to  eat  ?  Would  sugar  hurt  him  ?  Was  it  safe  to  give  him 
orange-peel  ?  Did  n't  he  need  more  gravel  ?  More  water  ? 
More  anything  ?  And  if  he  did  n't  now,  would  n't  he  very 
soon  ?  Kitty  asked  these  questions  of  herself  and  those 
around  her  again  and  again.  Her  mother  laughingly  told 
her  that  as  Mr.  Warbler  would  need  to  be  attended  to 
every  single  day,  he  would  be  troublesome  enough  after  a 
while.  And  Kitty  hoped  lie  would.  It  would  be  so  nice 
to  take  care  of  the  dear  little  fellow.  Hey,  Fluffy  ?  So  it 


KITTY'S  CANARY  257 

would.  And  all  the  time  Fluffy  kept  on  singing,  as  if  to 
say: 

"  Yes,  Kitty,  you  look  out  for  me,  I  '11  look  out  for  you, 
and  we  '11  get  on  finely ;  so  we  will. 

"This  is  a  nice  house,  Kitty,"  his  song  seemed  to  say, 
when,  after  a  while,  he  and  the  little  girl  were  left  alone 
together ;  "  a  very  nice  house.  Pleasant  window  too,  sunny 
and  fine  ;  pretty  curtains,  white  as  clouds,  and  thin  as  mist. 
Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty,  Kit — tee-e-e  !  I  like  the  way 
the  wind  lifts  them.  Don't  you  ?  Don't  you  ?  Every 
one  's  so  good  to  you,  Kitty — Mama,  Papa,  Uncle  Will, 
and  all.  Soon  you  can  go  out  and  play.  Hey,  Kitty  ? 
Eh — Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty,  Kit,  Kit — tee-e-e-e-e  /" 

It  all  sounded  so  plain  to  Kitty,  that,  somehow,  there 
was  nothing  strange  in  it.  Why  should  n't  dear  little 
Fluffy  say  just  such  things  to  her  when  really  her  own 
heart  was  saying  the  same  to  him  ?  She  felt  this  all  the 
while  as  she  leaned  back  in  the  big  easy-chair.  It  was  a 
kind  of  duet  between  herself  and  Fluffy,  growing  softer  and 
sweeter,  sweeter  and  softer,  every  minute.  Then  when  he 
happened .  to  give  an  extra  loucl  note  of  joy,  she  would 
rouse  herself  with  a  start  and  revel  again  in  the  delight 
of  having  a  dear  little  canary-bird  like  Fluffy  to  love  and- 
care  for. 

The  little  fellow  did  not  miss  the  bird-colony  at  Mr. 
Carr's,  in  the  least.  His  new  cage  was  large  and  pretty, 
and  Kitty,  who  kept  it  in  perfect  order  "  all  herself,"  was 
only  too  happy  to  attend  to  his  every  need.  Even  after 
she  became  able  to  go  out  and  sit  in  the  sunshine,  she 
often  would  look  up  at  the  house  and  wave  her  hand 

17 


258  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

to  Fluffy,  or  try  to  whistle  to  him  as  he  merrily  hopped 
about  in  his  gilded  cage. 

But  sometimes,  as  Kitty  grew  stronger  and  her  little 
playmates  began  to  call  for  her,  right  after  breakfast,  to 
join  in  this  or  that  sport,  she  would  fly  out  to  them, 
actually  neglecting  to  give  Fluffy  fresh  seed  and  water. 
His  cage  hung  out  on  the  upper  veranda  now. 

"An  hour  or  so  can't  make  any  difference,"  she  would 
say  to  herself, — "he  's  all  right";  and  poor  Fluffy  would 
have  to  wait  for  her  till  after  school. 

How  it  came  about,  Kitty  could  n't  tell.  But,  somehow, 
in  meeting  the  girls  again,  and  racing  through  the  fields 
with  them,  and  studying  her  lessons,  and  going  out  driving 
with  Uncle  Will,  and  doing  all  sorts  of  pleasant  things, 
time  slipped  by ;  until  one  day,  as  she  sat  resting  on  the  low 
stone  fence  in  her  father's  orchard,  watching  a  pair  of  busy 
birds  flitting  about  among  the  branches  of  a  stunted  little 
tree,  she  wondered  why  they  did  not  seek  pleasanter 
quarters, —  and  then  she  suddenly  thought  of  Fluffy ! 

With  a  quick  pang  of  remorse  and  fright,  Kitty  sprang 
to  the  ground.  She  ran  to  the  place  where  the  cage  hung. 
The  water-cup  was  empty, the  feed-cup  empty — nothing  but 
a  few  dried  seed-husks  scattered  about.  Fluffy  was  there, 
silent  and  alone,  sitting  on  the  lowest  perch,  and  looking 
oh,  so  grieved ! 

"  Fluffy  !  Fluffy  ! "  sobbed  Kitty,  "  here  I  am  !  I— I  for 
got  you,  Fluffy — but  don't  die  ! "  and  she  started  to  get  him 
something  to  eat. 

But  he  already  had  fallen  from  his  perch.  With  a  cry 
Kitty  tore  open  the  little  wire  door,  and,  taking  him  in  her 


KITTY'S  CANARY  259 

hand,  felt  that  he  was  still  alive.  He  did  not  open  his 
eyes,  but  when  she  moistened  his  bill  with  water,  and 
sprinkled  him,  and  laid  him  down  on  the  sunny  grass,— 
now  feeding  him  drop  by  drop  with  sweetened  water, — 
he  stirred  feebly  ;  then  he  sank  back. 

"  Mama,  mama  !  "   she    called  loudly,   "  come   quick  — 
Fluffy  's  dying!" 

But  her  mother  had  gone  to  the  village  with  a  friend. 
Their  nearest  neighbor,  Mrs.  Scott,  came  to  the  window; 
and  Kitty  called  to  her. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Scott!  You  have  canaries.  Do,  please,  tell 
me  what  to  do  for  Fluffy !  I  forgot  him,  and  he  's  starved." 

"  Oh,  you  child ! "  exclaimed  the  neighbor,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  (though  it  seemed  a  very  long  while  to  Kitty)  she 
was  kneeling  beside  the  little  girl,  bending  over  Fluffy. 
She  had  a  sheet  of  soft  cotton  in  her  hand.  Tenderly  and 
lightly  folding  the  bird  in  it,  she  rose,  and,  pitying  and 
comforting  him  as  only  a  bird-lover  could,  she  hastened 
home  with  the  little  sufferer — hardly  noticing  Kitty, 
except  to  repeat  reproachfully,  now  and  then,  "Oh,  you 
child  !  you  child  !  " 

"  Can  you  do  anything  ?  Can  you,  Mrs.  Scott  ?  "  pleaded 
Kitty,  following  her  on  a  run. 

"  We  '11  see.  Oh,  the  poor  little  fellow  ! "  said  the  neigh 
bor,  as  they  entered  her  cottage. 

Did  Fluffy  live  ? 

Well,  well — you  should  have  seen  him  a  week  or  two 
later  in  his  cage,  jumping  from  perch  to  perch,  on  the  floor, 
up  to  the  seed-cup  and  down  again,  snapping  the  seeds 


260  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

hither  and  thither,  and  singing:  "Kitty,  Kitty,  here  we 
are !  sweet  and  sunny ;  lovely,  is  n't  it  ?  Kitty !  Kitty ! 
Kitty  !  Here  we  are  !  Here  we  are  ! " 

"Oh,  you  little  sweetness!"  cried  Kitty,  clasping  her 
hands  with  joy.  "  I  '11  never,  never,  never  neglect  you 
again !  Mama  says  she  '11  try  me  once  more." 

"Kitty,  Kit-Kit-Kittee— ee-ee!"  sang  Fluffy. 


GRANDMOTHER 


17" 


GRANDMOTHER  S    AFTERNOON    NAP. 


GRANDMOTHER 

ONE  fine  October  afternoon  some  years  ago,  my  sister 
and  I,  happening  to  be  in  Germantown,  that  beautiful  sub 
urb  of  Philadelphia,  went  to  call  upon  our  well-remembered 

classmate  Elsie  G .  We  found  her  and  her  two  sisters, 

Helen  and  Mary,  at  home  in  the  sunny,  quaintly  windowed 
living-room — and  three  very  lovely  girls  they  were.  After 
they  and  their  grandmother  had  given  us  a  hearty  wel 
come,  Elsie  said : 

"  Girls,  Grandmother  was  just  going  to  tell  us  some 
thing  about  Patty  Burlock,  as  you  came  in.  Would  n't 
you  like  to  hear  it  ?" 

We  assured  her  that  we  should  be  delighted, — and 
Grandmama,  after  a  little  coaxing,  began: 

"  It  is  only  a  simple  incident  that  came  to  my  mind  a 
few  moments  back,  hardly  worth  telling  to  an  audience  of 
five.  It  occurred  at  a  church  wedding  that  I  attended 
eighteen — dear  me !  twenty-two  years  ago.  I  knew  the 
bride  and  Patty  too,  as  I  was  telling  the  children  "  (here, 
Grandmama  looked  beamingly  at  Helen,  Elsie,  and  Mary). 
"  Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  is,  little  Patty  did  speak  right 
out  loud  in  the  middle  of  the  ceremony. 

263 


264  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"But  if  the  minister  had  asked  any  other  question 
than  the  one  he  did,  it  never  would  have  happened. 

"  Or  if  it  had  been  on  any  other  day  than  that  one 
particular  day,  it  would  n't  have  happened. 

"  If  any  other  little  boy  in  the  whole  wide  universe  ex 
cepting  Eobby  Burlock  had  been  with  Patty,  it  never 
would  have  happened,"  she  went  on,  with  a  playful  nod. 

"  And  I  need  n't  tell  you  if  it  had  been  two  strangers 
standing  before  the  altar,  instead  of  their  sister  Jessie  and 
Herbert  Norris,  it  never  could  have  happened. 

"  But  it  did  happen,  for  all  that. 

"  If  any  one  here  present,  said  the  minister,  looking 
kindly  upon  the  sweet  bride  with  the  brave  young  man 
beside  her,  and  then  glancing  calmly  over  the  little  church- 
ful  of  wedding  guests,  knows  of  any  reason  why  this  man 
and  this  woman  should  not  be  joined  together  in  the  holy 
bonds  of  matrimony,  let  him  speak  now,  or, — 

"  '  Wheat 's  all  that  ? '  whispered  Eobby,  in  great  scorn,  to 
Patty.  '  I  guess  he  does  n't  know.  There  ain't  any  bounds 
of  materony  about  it.' 

"  That  was  enough.  Young  as  he  was,  Eobby  was  her 
oracle.  Up  jumped  Patty,  anxious  to  set  things  right, 
and  determined  that  the  wedding  should  go  on,  now  that 
Sister  Jessie  had  on  her  white  dress  and  orange-flowers 
and  lovely  veil. 

" '  I  do ! '  she  called  out  in  a  sweet,  resolute  voice,  as 
she  held  up  a  warning  finger.  '  I  do.  Please  wait,  Mr. 
Minister.  There  ain't  any  materony  about  it  at  all. 
They  came  on  purpose  to  be  married ! ' 

"  '  O'  course  they  did  ! '  muttered  Eobby,  distinctly. 


GRANDMOTHER 


265 


"  Everybody  stared  at  Patty.  It  was  a  dreadful  moment, 
as  you  may  believe,  but  the  wedding  went  on  all  the  same. 

"And  Patty  and  Eobby,  content  and  unabashed,  were 
among  the  very  first  to  kiss  the  bride." 


266  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

We  all  laughed  heartily  as  the  old  lady  ended  her  story, 
and  she  laughed  with  us. 

"  It  so  happened,"  she  added,  "  that  I  was  seated  quite 
near  the  children,  and  I  heard  the  whole  thing.  Their 
parents  were  with  them,  but  were  separated  from  them  by 
Eobby's  little  hat  and  coat,  and  Patty's  big  Leghorn  hat, 
which  lay  on  the  seat. 

"  By  the  way,  did  n't  one  of  you  young  folks  tell  me  a 
while  ago  that  Patty  Burlock  herself  is  going  to  be  married 
next  week  ? " 

"Yes,  indeed,  Grandmother.  We  have  cards  for  the 
wedding — and  you  must  go,  too." 

"  Not  I,  my  dears.     Grandma  's  getting  a  little  too  stiff 
in  her  old  age  to  be  ambling  to  weddings  and  such  things  — 
but  your  young  eyes  will  see  it  all,  and  you  '11  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

The  pleasant  old  lady  leaned  back  in  her  rocker  with  so 
happy  and  satisfied  an  air  as  she  said  this,  that,  later,  when 
Elsie,  my  sister,  and  I  were  sauntering  through  the  grounds 
toward  the  summer-house,  I  could  not  help  saying  to  our 
young  hostess  :  "  How  changed  your  grandmother  is  !  and 
for  the  better ;  she  used  to  be  so  very  quiet  and  grave. 
And  how  charmingly  she  told  that  little  story ! " 

A  peculiar  expression  crossed  Elsie's  face,  as  though  the 
remark  had  given  her  both  pain  and  pleasure.  Then  she 
replied,  as  she  led  the  way  into  the  crimson- vined  summer- 
house  : 

"  Yes,  Grandmother  has  changed.  So  have  we,  for  that 
matter.  Come  in  and  sit  down  a  moment.  I  '11  tell  you 
how  it  all  came  about: 


GRANDMOTHER  267 

"For  a  long  time  I  did  not  understand  it  at  all.  I 
thought  that,  because  grandmothers  often  were  feeble  and 
old-fashioned,  they  could  never  really  feel  as  we  children 
do ;  that  they  needed  no  particular  notice  or  enjoyment, 
for  it  was  their  nature  to  sit  in  rocking-chairs  and  knit. 
They  seemed  quite  different  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  not  to  be  especially  thought  about;  that  is,  by  girls 
who  were  as  full  of  merry  plans  as  we  were. 

"  Grandmother  had  lived  with  us  of  late  years,  as  father 
is  her  only  son.  We  had  a  vague  idea  that  she  helped 
Mother  mend  the  clothes,  and  knitted  Father's  woolen 
stockings,  besides  some  pairs  for  our  church  society.  We 
were  supposed  to  love  her,  of  course,  and  we  were  never 
openly  rude,  for  indeed  we  had  been  taught  to  be  polite  to 
all  aged  persons.  As  for  Grandmother,  she  was  one  of 
those  peaceful  souls  who  never  make  any  trouble,  but  just 
go  on  in  their  own  way  so  quietly  that  you  hardly  know 
they  are  in  the  house.  Mother  sat  with  her  sometimes, 
but  we  girls,  in  our  gay,  busy  pursuits,  rarely  thought  of 
such  a  thing.  She  seemed  to  have  no  part  in  our  existence. 

"  It  went  on  so  for  some  time,  till  one  day  I  happened  at 
sundown  to  go  into  the  sitting-room,  and  there  sat  Grand 
mother,  alone.  She  had  fallen  asleep  in  her  chair  by  the 
window.  The  sun  was  just  sinking  out  of  sight,  casting  a 
ruddy  glow  of  light  into  the  room,  and  in  this  glow  I  saw 
Grandmother  —  saw  her  really  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  ! 

"  She  had  been  reading  her  Bible,  and  then,  as  if  there 
had  been  no  need  of  reading  more,  since  its  treasure  al 
ready  lay  shining  in  her  soul,  she  had  turned  the  book 
over  upon  her  lap  and  leaned  back  to  enjoy  the  evening. 


268  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  I  saw  it  all  in  a  moment, —  her  gentleness,  her  patience, 
her  holiness.  Then,  while  her  love  and  beautiful  dignity 
seemed  to  fold  about  me  like  a  bright  cloud,  the  sweet 
every-day  lines  in  her  face  told  me  a  secret, —  that  even 
then  in  the  wonderful  sunset  of  life  she  was,  oh,  how  hu 
man  !  So  human  that  she  missed  old  faces  and  old  scenes; 
so  human  that  she  needed  a  share  of  what  God  was  giving 
us, —  friends,  home  interests,  little  surprises  and  expecta 
tions,  loving  offices,  and,  above  all,  a  recognition  in  the 
details  of  our  fresh  young  lives. 

"  Girls,  when  Grandmother  woke  up,  she  found  us  all 
three  stealing  softly  into  the  room;  for  I  had  told  my 
sisters  about  it,  and  we  all  had  talked  it  over.  Mary  only 
kissed  her  and  asked  if  she  had  been  having  a  good  nap ; 
Susie  lifted  her  ball  of  yarn  off  the  carpet,  where  it  had 
rolled,  and  began  to  wind  it,  all  the  while  telling  her  a 
pleasant  bit  of  news  about  one  of  the  school-girls ;  and  I 
— well,  I  knelt  down  at  Grandmother's  feet  and,  just  as  I 
was  going  to  cry,  I  gave  her  knees  a  good  hard  hug,  and 
told  her  she  was  a  darling. 

"  That  's  all,  girls.  Grandmother  is  different.  And  it  's 
been  different  with  us  too  ever  since  that  day  when  she 
fell  asleep  by  the  window.  Instead  of  our  waking  her, 
you  see,  she  really  wakened  us." 


TWO   MAY-QUEENS 


TWO  MAY-QUEENS 

ONCE,  riot  very  long  ago,  and  in  a  place  not  very  far  off, 
a  ragged  little  lame  girl  sat  upon  a  stone  in  the  doorway 
of  a  poor  hut,  saying  softly  to  herself : 

"April  showers  bring  forth  May-flowers." 

"  They  do,  do  they  ? "  screeched  a  sharp  voice  from 
within.  "  I  '11  May-flowers  you,  if  you  don't  look  out ! 
What  you  settin'  out  there  for,  Lerviny,  and  them  clothes 
a-getting  cold  in  the  pail  ? " 

"  I  'm  a-lettin'  'em  soak,"  answered  the  lame  child  gently, 
without  looking  up. 

"  You  be,  be  you  ?  Well,  just  you  take  yerself  off  of 
that,  and  come  here  to  yer  work.  There  's  them  collars 
all  got  to  be  starched." 

Laviny,  taking  her  rough  little  crutch,  rose  as  quickly 
as  she  could,  and,  entering  the  dingy  room,  worked  her 
way  among  tubs  and  broken  chairs  to  an  old  pine  table 
that  held  a  pan  of  hot  starch  and  a  number  of  dry  collars 
tied  in  a  ragged  towel. 

"  Can't  I  take  'em  out  in  the  sun,  Aunt  ?  I  can't  half  see 
to  do  'em  in  here." 

Her  aunt,  who  at  the  moment  was  bending  over  a  tub- 
ful  of  steaming-hot  clothes,  was  rubbing  the  schoolmaster's 

271 


272  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

shirts  so  hard  upon  the  washboard  that  she  did  not  hear 
all  that  Laviny  said.  She  saw  the  child's  movement  toward 
the  door,  however,  and  checked  her  with  an  impatient  "  No  ; 
stay  where  you  be." 

For  a  while  after  that,  the  only  sounds  in  the  cheerless 
room  were  the  soft  skish,  s-k-ish  of  the  starch  under  La- 
viny's  thin  little  palms  and  her  aunt's  heavy  rub,  rub,  rub 
upon  the  washboard. 

Did  the  aunt  hate  little  Laviny  ?  Not  she.  Eliza  Green 
was  only  rough,  quick-tempered,  and  tired.  If  she  thought 
about  her  conduct  at  all,  she  thought  only  that  she  was 
doing  her  duty  in  not  letting  the  child  "gad  about  out 
doors  "  and  in  "  puttin'  a  stop  to  the  lazy  ways  she  was  a- 
getting  into."  Laviny,  or  Lavinia,  was  the  orphan  child  of 
this  washerwoman's  sister,  and  it  evidently  was  a  settled 
matter  somewhere  far  in  the  depths  of  the  poor  woman's 
dull,  neglected  heart  that  "so  long  as  there  was  a  day's 
washing  to  be  found,  or  a  crust  or  a  smitch  left,  the  poor 
little  creetur  should  n't  want  for  food  and  shelter ;  no,  nor 
for  careful  trainin'."  Presently,  Laviny,  squeezing  a  collar 
very  hard  and  letting  the  starch  ooze  slowly  through  her 
fingers,  looked  wistfully  toward  the  open  doorway.  Some 
white  clouds  were  floating  by  in  the  distance. 

"  What 's  got  into  yer,  Lerviny  ?  I  '11  give  yer  somethin' 
to  stare  at  if  you  don't  take  your  eyes  off  that  there  sky." 

(Only  the  day  before,  Eliza  Green  had  told  her  friend 
Mrs.  Delany,  who  lived  in  the  shanty  beyond,  that  that 
queer  look  of  Laviny's  always  gave  her  "a  crawl  —  like 
as  if  she  was  goin'  to  be  took  away  from  me,  you  know." 
But  she  did  not  say  this  to  Laviny.) 


TWO  MAY-QUEENS  273 

"Why,  Aunt,"  answered  the  little  girl,  in  her  sweet, 
patient  voice,  "  I  was  only  wondering  about  Miss  Du- 
plaine's  May-pole.  Did  n't  you  hear  how  Miss  Duplaine's 
little  girl  's  going  to  be  a  May-queen  ?  They  're  going  to 
have  a  great  high  pole,  oh !  ever  so  high !  all  hung  full  of 
flowers,  and  Miss  Lotty  's  a-going  to  have  on  her  lovely 
white  frock  and  loads  of  flowers  around  her  head ! " 

"  How  d'  yer  know  ? " 

"  Why,  I  heard  'em  talkin'  about  it  when  Jake  Delany 
and  me  went  last  night  to  take  home  Miss  Duplaine's  clean 
clothes." 

"  Much  you  took  home  Miss  Duplaine's  clothes ! " 

"  Well,  I  went  with  Jake,  anyhow,  an'  I  love  him — he  's 
so  good  about  carryin'  me  when  I  'm  tired." 

"  Lerviny !  Now,  see  you  looking  so  again !  Let  that 
there  sky  be !  If  you  don't  stop  that  way  of  lookin'  up 
smilin'  at  the  clouds,  I  '11  be  after  you,  so  I  will." 

"  I  was  only  thinkin'  how  good  Jake  is.  And,  Oh,  Aunt ! 
you  ought  to  see  the  throne  ! " 

The  aunt  gave  a  jump.  "  What  throne,  you  on'arthly 
child,  you  ? " 

"Why,  the  one  that  's  for  dear  little  Miss  Lotty  Du- 
plaine.  It 's  all  made  up  pretty  and  green,  and  to-day  she  's 
going  to  sit  on  it  for  Queen  of  May,  and  have  a  whole 
bushel  o'  flowers  all  throwed  over  her ! " 

"  Sakes !  what  goin's-on  them  rich  folks  do  have !  I 
don't  see  no  sense  into  it." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Lizer!  /do!" 

Just  then  they  heard  a  sound  of  mingled  shouts  and 
laughter  and  the  tramping  of  little  feet. 

18 


274  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Jake  !  Jake  !  Jake  Delany  ! "  screamed  the  chorus. 

"  What  's  a-wantin'  ?  "  shouted  back  a  gruff  voice  from 
the  Delany  shanty,  which,  with  its  low  roof  (like  an  old 
hat)  slouching  over  its  clear  windows,  stood  quite  near. 

"  Oh !  we  want  you  to  come  help  us  get  some  apple- 
blossoms.  Come  quick  !  we  can't  reach." 

Laviny  ran  to  the  door  and  the  aunt  followed  briskly. 
It  was  just  noon.  Jake  Delany,  Mrs.  Delany's  great,  good- 
natured  son,  was  shuffling  his  way  toward  Eliza  Green's 
hut,  and  right  outside,  close  to  the  very  door-step,  pressed 
a  troop  of  happy,  soiled,  ragged,  laughing  children — and 
all  carrying  flowers  !  The  girls  had  them  in  their  aprons  ; 
the  boys,  bareheaded,  held  them  in  their  hats  and  caps. 
One  girl  had  a  pailful  of  grass  and  dandelions,  and  a 
chubby  little  fellow,  with  red  hair,  held  an  old  cracked 
pitcher  full  of  blossoms  and  sprays  of  willow. 

At  the  kindergarten  up  the  village  street  the  children 
rushed  to  the  door  and  windows  eager  to  see  what  was 
happening. 

And  nearer  still,  Mrs.  Delany's  little  girl — younger  than 
Jake — stood  gazing  wistfully  at  the  merry  crowd. 

"  Come  along,  Ma-ri-er,"  shouted  some  one ;  "  we  're  going 
to  have  lots  of  fun ! " 

"  I  can't,"  Maria  called  back.  "  The  children  are  kind 
of  ailin'  and  Ma  can't  spare  me.  I  Ve  got  to  stay  home 
with  them." 

"  Hallo,  Laviny  ! "  shouted  half  a  dozen  ;  "  we  're  going 
to  be  needin'  you  soon." 

"  Needin'  me  ?  "  almost  screamed  Laviny,  her  face  spark 
ling  with  delight  and  astonishment.  "  Why,  what  for  ? " 


TWO  MAY-QUEENS 

"  We  're  going  to  keep  May,"  answered  the  biggest  girl, 
speaking  for  all,  "  and  we  're  going  to  make  you  Queen." 


CAN'T.     MA  CAN'T  SPARE  ME." 


"  Oh  !  oh  !  oli ! "  said  Laviny,  clasping  her  hands.  "And 
have  flowers  throwed  all  over  me  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  big  girl,  "  and  we  're  goin'  to  crown  you 
beautiful,  and  we  're  goin'  to  fix  a  wand  for  you  like  Miss 


276  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Lotty's.  We  Ve  all  been  up  to  look  through  the  bushes  at 
her.  My  !  it  's  splendid  ! " 

"  She  looks  like  a  angel,"  put  in  one  of  the  little  girls, 
"  with  the  loveliest  white  shoes  and — " 

"Ho!"  interrupted  another  scornfully.  "They  don't 
have  no  shoes  on  angels." 

"How  you  know?" 

"  'Cause  I  seed  a  piety er  of  'em.     Ain't  yer  smart ! " 

"She  had  the  elegantest  ribbons  onto  her  back,  too, 
Laviny,"  spoke  the  big  girl  again.  "But  they  took  her 
right  indoors.  Traid  of  her  bein'  so  thin-dressed,  I  guess. 
Ready,  Laviny  ?  We  want  you  right  off." 

"  Where  we  going  ? "  asked  Laviny,  all  in  a  glow. 

"  Why,  where  we  Ve  been  fixin'  the  things,  to  be  sure. 
Jake  and  Charley  and  Pete  '11  have  the  blossoms  all  tied 
to  the  pole  'fore  we  get  there.  His  daddy's  long  rake- 
handle  makes  a  splendid  one." 

"Do  let  me  go — please  do,"  said  Laviny,  turning  sud 
denly  to  her  aunt.  "  Oh,  can't  I  ? " 

"  Why,  what  's  got  inter  yer,  Laviny  ? "  said  the  aunt, 
sharply ;  "  anybody  'd  think  I  was  a  bear  to  hear  you  go  on. 
You  hain't  got  a  clean  smitch  on  you,  but  never  mind;  go  get 
your  cape,  it  may  blow  up  colder  bimeby.  Some  o'  you  '11 
have  to  help  her  'long  a  little,"  she  added,  turning  to  the 
children,  as  Laviny  went  back  into  the  shanty  ;  "  the  poor 
child  's  too  much  of  a  cripple  to  be  May  what-you-call-it." 

"  Oh  !  no,  she  is  n't,"  shouted  two  or  three.  "  We  '11  take 
care  of  her." 

"  We  picked  her  out  for  that,"  added  a  little  girl  quickly, 
"  and  because  she  's  so  pretty  and  good." 


TWO  MAY-QUEENS  277 

"  She  is  that,"  said  Eliza  Green,  with  a  queer  shine  in 
her  eyes;  then,  changing  her  tone,  "Here,  you,  Laviny, 
don't  you  know  they  're  a-waitin'  ?  You  ain't  a-makin' 
that  air  cape,  be  yer  ?  I  never  see  such  a  child." 

Laviny  came  stumbling  out  with  her  crutch  only  half 
under  her  arm.     Her  face  was  so  flushed  and  happy-look 
ing  that  Mrs.  Green  gave  her  a  slap  as  she  passed  out. 
"  Oh  !  oh  ! "  exclaimed  one  of  the  girls. 
"  That  's  nothing,"  laughed  Laviny ;  "  that  's   only  her 
way  o'  kissiii  me.     Aunt  's  real  good.     Maybe  she  11  go 
with  us  if  you  ask  her." 

One  of  the  girls  ran  into  the  shanty,  but  came  quickly 
out  again  with,  "  She  says  what  's  the  washin'  to  do,  she  'd 
like  to  know  ?  " 

Nobody  stopped  to  answer  the  question,  and  now  Jake 
and  Charley  and  Pete  came  running  toward  them. 

"  Up  for  a  ride,  little  missy,  grunted  Jake,  as,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  he  lifted  Laviny  up  to  a  secure  seat  on 
his  great  square  shoulder.  "  Here  we  go  ! " 

It  was  a  beautiful  procession,  after  all.  Jake  ahead 
with  his  sunburned  cheek  looking  all  the  ruddier  beside 
Laviny's  sweet,  pale  face,  Tom  Tice  with  his  pitcherful, 
Kitty  Carr  with  her  pailful,  and  all  the  rest  following  with 
laden  aprons  and  caps — it  was  a  procession  of  flowers  led 
on  by  the  lily -girl  shining  up  in  Jake's  arms.  At  last  they 
reached  the  May-ground.  It  was  only  two  fields  off  from 
Mrs.  Duplaine's  elegant  place.  They  could  see  Lotty's 
beautiful  May-pole  distinctly,  with  its  fluttering  ribbons 
and  long  festoons  of  flowers.  What  if  their  May -pole  was 
only  a  rake  planted  in  the  ground  and  wreathed  with 


278  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

daisies  and  dandelions !  What  if  the  throne  was  made  of 
an  old  tub  and  a  stool  sprinkled  over  with  cut  grass ! 
Did  n't  they  trim  Laviny's  crutch  with  violets  and  apple- 
blossoms  ?  Did  n't  they  crown  her  with  a  beautiful 
wreath  ?  Did  n't  they  throw  nearly  a  bushel  of  grass  and 
flowers  at  her  feet  ?  And  did  n't  the  biggest  girl  walk  up 
to  her,  and  with  a  funny  little  bob  of  a  courtesy  read  these 
lines,  written  by  Jake  on  a  piece  of  wrapping-paper  ? — 

"  Laviny  Green, 
You  are  our  May-Queen." 

That  night,  two  little  sisters,  nestling  in  their  straw  bed 
on  the  floor,  talked  over  the  events  of  the  day. 

"  Was  n't  Laviny  sweet  ?  "  said  one.  "  I  do  think  she  's 
feelin'  real  happy  now,  if  she  is  lame  !  It  's  dreadful  hard 
to  have  to  walk  crooked,  ain't  it  ? " 

"  Bet  it  is  !  But  I  'm  glad  we  made  her  Queen  o'  May," 
said  the  other. 


LITTLE   HAL'S   EICHES 


LITTLE   HAL'S   EICHES 

ONE  day  our  little  Hal  was  invited  to  spend  the  after 
noon  with  his  young  playmate  Johnny  Lewis.      Johnny's 
mother  had  died  when  he  was  a  baby,  but  his  father  was 
still  living.     Johnny  was  an  only  child,  and  he  dwelt  in  a 
fine  house,  and  on  Sundays  rode  to  church  in  the  grandest 
carriage  to  be  met  with  in  all  the  country  round.    He  had 
a  great  many  toys,  and  a  real  watch  that  would  go  all  day 
and  every  day  without  stopping ;  and  as  for  candies  and 
cakes,  why!  the  physician  who  attended  the  family  said 
that  Johnny  had  enough  of  such  things  given  him  to  sup 
ply  a  whole  regiment  of  little  boys.     He  was  a  funny  doc 
tor,  and  liked  to  make  droll  speeches  ;  but,  for  all  that,  he 
would  often  shake  his  head  very  gravely  when  he  felt  his 
little  patient's  pulse;  then  lie  would  look  sternly  at  the 
big  gold  watch  which  he  held  in  his  hand  while  counting 
Johnny's  pulse-beats,  and  mutter,  "  Too  many  good  things 
are  bad  things  for  youngsters."      Johnny  would  try  for 
a  while  to  puzzle  out  the  strange  sentence,  but  as  he  was 
ill  on  these  occasions,  he  would  soon  give  up  the  attempt 

281 


282  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

in  despair,  and  close  his  eyes,  longing  to  get  well,  so  that 
he  might  eat  plumcake  and  popcorn  balls  again. 

But  Johnny  was  not  always  sick ;  and,  as  I  said  before, 
he  had  many  beautiful  things.  So,  of  course,  this  visit 
promised  Master  Hal  a  world  of  enjoyment.  But,  alas ! 
when  the  poor  little  fellow  returned  home  in  the  after 
noon,  his  brow  was  clouded,  and  he  had  a  dismal  look  in 
his  blue  eyes,  and  the  least  bit  of  a  pout  on  his  cherry  lips. 

Something  was  wrong,  I  knew,  and  at  last  Hal  gave  it 
words. 

"  Mother,  Johnny  has  money  in  loth  his  pockets  ! " 

"  Has  he,  dear  ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  he  says  he  could  get  ever  so  much  more,  if 
he  wanted  it," 

"  Well,  now,  that  makes  it  very  pleasant  for  Johnny,"  I 
returned  cheerfully,  as  a  reply  evidently  was  expected. 
"  Very  pleasant ;  don't  you  think  so  ? " 

"  Yes,  only  —  " 

"  Only  wliat,  Hal  ? " 

"  Why,  he  has  a  big  pop-gun  and  a  gold  watch  and  a 
hobby-horse,  and  lots  of  things."  And  Hal  looked  up  into 
my  face  with  a  disconsolate,  doleful  stare. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Mother,"  and  the  telltale  tears  sprang  to  his 
eyes,  "  only  I  think  we  're  very  poor,  are  n't  we  ? " 

"  No  indeed,  Hal,  dear ;  we  are  very  far  from  being 
poor.  But  we  are  not  so  rich  as  Mr.  Lewis's  family,  if 
that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  Oh,  Mother  ! "  insisted  the  little  fellow,  "  I  do  think 
we  're  very  poor ;  anyhow  /  am  ! " 


LITTLE  HALS  RICHES  283 

"  Oh,  Hal ! "  I  exclaimed  reproachfully. 

"  Yes,  ina'am,  I  am"  he  sobbed  ;  " I  have  n't  anything  at 
all  scarcely  —  I  mean  anything  that  's  worth  money  — 
except  things  to  eat  and  wear,  and  I  'd  have  to  have  them 
anyway." 

"Have  to  have  them?"  I  echoed,  at  the  same  time  laying 
my  book  upon  the  couch  on  which  we  were  sitting,  and 
preparing  to  reason  with  the  young  gentleman  on  this 
point ;  "  do  you  not  know,  my  son  — 

Just  then  Uncle  Ben  called  out  from  the  next  room, 
where  he  had  been  reading  his  newspaper,  "  What  's  the 
matter  with  the  little  man  ?  Come  in  here,  my  boy." 

"  Hal,"  said  he  solemnly,  nodding  slyly  to  me  by  way 
of  showing  that  he  had  overheard  our  conversation,  "  you 
know  I  'm  a  doctor,  and  if  you  '11  give  me  a  chance  to 
try  some  experiments  you  can  earn  a  lot  of  money." 

"  Can  I  ? "  asked  Hal,  looking  up  quickly  through  his 
tears ;  "  I  'd  like  that  ever  so  much ;  but  what  is  a  'speri- 
ment,  Uncle  ? " 

"  An  experiment,"  said  his  uncle,  "  is  a  trial,  a  way  of 
finding  out  things.  If  you  want  to  find  out  what  will 
happen  when  sugar  is  put  into  water,  you  simply  try  the 
experiment  of  putting  a  lump  into  this  tumbler,  so,  and 
you  '11  find  out  that  the  sugar  '11  melt  and  the  water  will 
become  sweet.  If  you  should  put  slices  of  lemon  into  the 
water,  what  would  happen  ?  " 

"  The  water  would  be  sour,"  replied  Hal,  promptly. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  you  're  right,"  said  his  uncle.  "  So  much  for 
experiment.  Now  for  business. 

"  I  want  to  find  out  something  about  eyes ;  so,  if  you  '11 


284  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

let  me  have  yours,  I  '11  give  you  ten  dollars  apiece  for 
them." 

"  For  my  eyes ! "  exclaimed  Hal,  astonished  almost  out 
of  his  wits. 

"  Yes,"  resumed  Uncle  Ben,  quietly,  "  for  your  eyes.  I 
promise  not  to  hurt  you  a  particle.  Only  you  could  n't 
see  out  of  them  any  more.  Come,  sir  !  ten  dollars  apiece, 
cash  down.  What  do  you  say  ? " 

"  Give  you  my  eyes,  Uncle  !  Why,  I  'd  be  blind  !  "  cried 
Hal,  looking  wild  at  the  very  thought.  "  For  two  ten  dol 
lars  ?  I  think  not !  "  and  the  startled  little  fellow  shook  his 
head  defiantly. 

"  Well,  thirty  ;  —  forty ;  —  fifty  ;  —  a  hundred  dollars, 
then  ? "  but  Hal  shook  his  head  at  every  offer. 

"  No,  sir !  I  would  n't  let  you  for  a  thousand  dollars. 
Why,  what  could  I  do  without  my  eyes  ?  I  could  n't  see 
Mother,  nor  the  baby,  nor  the  flowers,  nor  the  horses,  nor 
anything,"  added  Hal,  waxing  warmer. 

"  I  '11  give  you  five  thousand  ! "  urged  Uncle  Ben,  taking 
a  roll  of  bank-notes  out  of  his  pocket.  Poor  little  Hal, 
standing  at  a  respectful  distance,  shouted  that  he  never 
would  do  any  such  thing. 

"  Very  well,"  continued  his  uncle,  with  a  serious,  busi 
nesslike  air,  at  the  same  time  writing  down  something  in 
his  note-book,  "  I  can't  afford  to  give  you  more  than  five 
thousand  dollars,  Hal ;  so  I  shall  have  to  do  without  the 
eyes ;  but,"  he  added,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  will  do :  T  '11 
give  you  twenty  dollars  if  you  will  let  me  put  a  few  drops 
out  of  this  bottle  into  your  ears.  It  will  not  hurt,  but  it 
will  make  you  deaf.  I  want  to  try  some  experiments  with 


LITTLE  HAL'S  RICHES  285 

deafness,  you  see.  Come  now.  Here  are  the  twenty  dol 
lars  all  ready  for  you." 

"  Make  me  deaf  ! "  shouted  Hal,  without  even  looking  at 
the  money  temptingly  displayed  upon  the  table.  "  I  guess 
you  won't  do  that  either.  Why,  I  could  n't  hear  a  word 
if  I  was  deaf,  could  I  ? " 

"  Probably  not,"  replied  Uncle  Ben,  dryly.  So,  of  course, 
Hal  refused  again.  He  would  never  give  up  his  hearing, 
he  said, — "  No,  not  for  three  thousand  dollars  ! " 

Uncle  Ben  made  another  note  in  his  book,  and  then 
came  out  with  prodigious  bids  for  Hal's  "  voice,"  for  his 
"right  arm,"  then  "  left  arm,"  "hands,"  "just  one  leg,"  "  feet," 
and  so  on,  finally  ending  with  an  offer  of  ten  thousand  dol 
lars  for  "  Mother  "  and  five  thousand  for  "  the  baby." 

To  all  of  these  offers,  however,  Hal  shook  his  head,  his 
eyes  flashing,  and  exclamations  of  surprise  and  indigna 
tion  bursting  from  his  lips.  At  last  Uncle  Ben  said  he 
must  give  up  his  experiments,  for  the  young  man's  prices 
were  entirely  too  high. 

"  Ha-ha ! "  laughed  Hal  exultingly,  and  he  folded  his 
arms  and  looked  as  if  to  say,  "  I  'd  like  to  see  the  man 
who  could  pay  them  ! " 

"  Why,  Hal,  look  at  this!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Ben,  peering 
into  his  note-book,  "  here  is  a  big  addition  sum  ;  come,  help 
me  do  it." 

Hal  looked  into  the  book,  and  there,  surely  enough,  were 
all  the  figures.  Uncle  Ben  read  the  list  aloud : 

"  Eyes,  $5000 ;  ears,  $3000  ;  voice,  $2000 ;  right  arm, 
$4000  ;  left  arm,  $4000 ;  hands,  $2000 ;  one  leg,  $4000  ; 
feet,  $3000  ;  Mother,  $10,000  ;  Baby,  $5000." 


286  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

He  added  the  numbers  together,  and  they  amounted  in 
all  to  forty-two  thousand  dollars. 

"  There,  Hal,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "  don't  you  think  you 
are  foolish  not  to  take  to  some  of  my  offers  ? " 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't,"  answered  Hal  resolutely. 

"Then,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "you  talk  of  being  poor,  and 
by  your  own  showing  you  have  treasures  that  you  '11  not 
take  forty-two  thousand  dollars  for.  What  do  you  say  to 
that ? " 

Hal  did  n't  know  exactly  what  to  say ;  so  he  laughed 
and  blushed  for  a  second,  and  then  with  shining  eyes 
exclaimed  : 

"  Why,  I  'm  awful  rich  !  all  of  us  —  you  and  Mama  and 
everybody  !  but  Uncle  — 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  Why,  Johnny  Lewis  has  got  'em  too  —  besides  the  gold 
watch  and  the  money  in  his  pockets  and  everything ! " 

"  My  stars  ! "  cried  Uncle  Ben  in  great  surprise  —  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  a  little  taken  aback  (as  lie  after 
ward  confessed  to  me,  in  confidence) — "  Well,  what 's  going 
to  be  done  about  it  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Hal,  rosy  with  joy  as  he  strode  about, 
proud  of  his  legs,  his  muscle,  and  all  his  possessions  — 
"  It 's  all  right  — everybody  's  rich  enough  after  they  find  it 
out." 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  quietly  slipping  from 
the  room. 


ONLY   A   ROSE 


THE   SISTERS. 


ONLY   A   EOSE 

A   TRUE    STORY 

ONE  day,  many  years  ago,  Mother  summoned  all  of  us 
children — Marie,  Gertrude,  and  me — to  her  sitting-room, 
and  made  an  announcement. 

"  Children,"  said  she,  "  I  am  going  to  the  country  with 
your  father,  to  remain  a  week." 

Dear  me  !  how  our  hearts  sank  ! 

"Miss  Ellis  will  remain  at  home  with  you,"  continued 
Mother,  "  and  I  trust  she  will  have  a  pleasant  account  to 
give  me  on  my  return.  She  will  tell  me,  I  think,  Marie, 
that  you  have  been  a  kind,  faithful  girl,  keeping  good 
watch  over  your  younger  sisters."  (Marie  smiled,  though 
her  eyes  were  fast  filling  with  tears.)  "  That  you,  Lilly, 
have  been  quite  steady,  getting  into  no  mischief  whatever." 
(I  was  the  wild  one  of  the  household.)  "And  that  you, 
my  little  Rosebud"  (kissing  Gertrude),  "have  obeyed  her 
in  everything  like  a  little  lady." 

When  Mother  ceased  speaking,  she  put  her  arms  round 
us,  and  looked  into  our  faces  to  see  'what  answers  she 

19  289 


290  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

could  find  there.  Marie  met  her  glance  in  a  way  that,  I 
know,  satisfied  Mother.  I  kissed  her,  and  inwardly  re 
solved  that  I  would  n't  go  to  the  sugar-bowl  all  the  while 
she  was  gone ;  no,  not  once  !  And  little  Gertrude,  who  was 
not  four  years  old,  looked  up  and  shook  her  head  saucily 
as  if  to  say,  "  I  '11  think  about  it,  Mother.  My  conduct 
will  depend  entirely  upon  what  turns  up." 

This  is  the  way  Gertrude  looked,  I  say ;  but,  if  the  truth 
could  be  known,  we  probably  would  find  that  she  had  al 
ready  forgotten  Mother's  words,  and  just  shook  her  head 
because  we  all  were  watching  her. 

Mother  talked  with  us  a  little  longer,  and  then  sent 
down-stairs  for  our  governess.  This  was  Miss  Ellis,  a 
dear,  good  lady,  who  was  almost  as  kind  as  Mother.  We 
loved  her  very  much,  and  when  she  looked  brightly  at  us 
and  said,  "  Oh,  I  am  sure  they  all  will  be  very  good  and 
obedient  while  Mama  is  gone,"  we  echoed  her  words  from 
the  depths  of  our  saddened  little  hearts. 

It  was  interesting  enough  .to  see  Miss  Ellis  put  all  the 
wonderful  things  into  the  trunk  —  gloves,  laces,  the  fan 
that  sparkled  when  you  shook  it,  the  little  pink  shawl 
trimmed  with  swans'  down,  that  Mother  used  to  throw 
around  her  shoulders  when  she  "  dressed  up  " ;  the  funny 
work-bag  that  shut  by  pulling  two  strings ;  and  the  beau 
tiful  chintz  dress  with  birds  flying  all  over  it.  But  our 
hour  of  enjoyment  was  short.  When  the  trunk  was 
locked,  strapped,  and  placed  in  the  hall ;  when  Father,  who 
came  home  to  dinner  that  day,  told  Miss  Ellis  just  how  to 
send  for  them  in  case  anything  should  happen ;  and  when, 
above  all,  Father  and  Mother  kissed  us  for  "  good-by  "  and 


ONLY  A   ROSE  291 

were  really  going,  and  we  sobbing  ones  (after  a  whispered 
hint  from  Miss  Ellis)  were  wishing  them  "  a  very  hap-ap- 
py  time,"  we  felt  that  nothing  more  dreadful  had  ever 
happened  to  three  poor,  forsaken  children. 

As  soon  as  the  carriage  rolled  away,  and  Miss  Ellis 
closed  the  street  door,  Marie  just  leaned  her  back  against 
it  and  cried ;  I  sat  down  on  the  mat,  forgetting  my  clean 
white  dress,  and  sobbed  aloud ;  and  little  Gerty  cried  be 
cause  Marie  and  I  did.  I  do  believe,  if  some  fairy  had 
made  my  new  wax  doll  walk  down-stairs  at  that  moment, 
and  take  a  seat  on  my  lap,  I  should  n't  have  noticed  it 
much ;  or  if  the  sugar-barrel  had  come  bumping  up  the 
kitchen  stairs,  and  rolled  past  me,  spilling  sugar  all  the 
way,  I  really  could  not  have  taken  any  for  at  least  two 
minutes,  I  was  so  wretched. 

Seven  days  !  Only  to  think  of  it !  Why,  a  day  appeared 
nearly  as  long  to  me  then  as  a  month  does  now,  and  a  week 
without  Mother  seemed  too  cruel  to  think  of — almost  as 
dreary  as  going  through  a  dark  tunnel  fifty  miles  long.  I 
had  yet  to  learn  that  to  sit  down  and  cry  over  such  a  trouble 
was  one  of  the  silliest  things  in  the  world.  Miss  Ellis 
told  us  so  then,  and  tried  to  comfort  us,  but  we  hardly 
heeded  her.  Indeed,  we  might  have  sobbed  there  for  an 
hour  longer,  if  a  well-known  voice  had  not  called  us,  from 
the  foot  of  the  kitchen  stairs : 

"  Doan  be  cryin'  dar,  chillen  !  Come  down  ter  ole  Lizer. 
I  'm  a-gwine  ter  make  cookies  ! " 

Those  words  sent  a  ray  of  bright  sunshine  through  the 
lonely  hall,  I  can  tell  you  !  Marie  gave  her  eyes  one  or  two 
final  rubs  with  her  apron ;  Gerty  clapped  her  hands  and 


292  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

ran  to  "  Lizer  "  ;  and  I  rose  and  walked  slowly  down  the 
hall,  letting  my  lips  stick  out  pretty  far,  so  as  to  feel 
miserable  as  long  as  possible. 

"  Jump,  dearie ! "  we  heard  the  cheerful  voice  say  to 
Gerty,  who  loved,  when  nearly  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs, 
to  leap  into  Eliza's  arms.  "  Jump-a-daisy  !  doan  be  afeard  ! 
Ole  Lizer  '11  ketch  yer  !  " 

In  another  moment,  Marie  and  I  rushed  joyfully  into  the 
kitchen,  exclaiming, "Will  you  bake  us  a  bogie  man,  Eliza? 
Will  you  bake  us  a  bogie  man  ? " 

"  Course  I  will,  honey ;  but  you  muss  all  be  circum 
spections,  now.  Can't  hab  no  f ussin'  in  dis  yere  kitclmm." 

We  were  so  well  accustomed  to  this  command,  that  it 
produced  but  little  effect  upon  us.  I  was  upon  the  kitchen 
table  "  as  quick  as  a  wink,"  and  Gerty  ran  up  and  down 
the  well-scrubbed  floor,  laughing  and  shouting  with  delight. 
Meanwhile,  Eliza  moved  slowly  and  steadily  about  the 
large  kitchen,  from  pantry  to  table,  from  table  to  dresser, 
her  shining  brown  face  beaming  with  kindness,  yet  grand 
to  our  eyes  with  its  look  of  importance ;  her  great  plump 
form  arrayed  in  a  dark  calico  gown,  covered  with  the 
cleanest  of  check  aprons  ;  a  bright  plaid  kerchief  tied 
about  her  head  ;  another  folded  over  her  bosom.  I  can 
hear  her  soft,  heavy  tread  yet  as  it  sounded  that  day  while 
she  placed  the  sugar,  eggs,  butter,  dishes,  and  other  articles 
upon  the  kitchen  table.  At  last  came  the  white  flour- 
pail,  crowned  with  a  big  sieve,  and  then  I  knew  that  my 
time  to  dismount  from  the  table  had  arrived.  Eliza  spoke 
even  while  I  was  scrambling  down  :  "  Get  off  of  dar,  Miss 
Lilly ;  can'  hab  no  chillen  cumberin'  up  dis  yere  table ! " 


ONLY  A   ROSE  293 

Oh,  what  fun  it  was  to  see  the  butter  and  sugar,  all 
lumpy  and  mottled  when  first  stirred  together,  grow  into 
a  smooth  golden  paste  under  the  strokes  of  her  wooden 
spoon !  to  see  the  beaten  eggs,  like  a  little  sea  of  foam, 
grow  less  and  less  in  their  fragrant  bed !  then  the  snow- 
like  fall  of  flour,  as  with  one  hand  she  shook  the  sieve, 
while  stirring  briskly  with  the  other  !  and,  above  all,  to 
see  the  completed  dough  flatten  out  under  the  rolling-pin, 
all  ready  to  be  stamped  into  cookies !  Marie,  being  the 
eldest,  always  had  the  privilege  of  stamping  out  a  few  with 
the  tin  cover  of  the  little  nutmeg-can;  and,  provided  I  had 
faithfully  kept  my  fingers  out  of  the  cinnamon-box  and 
not  upset  anything  upon  the  table,  I  was  sometimes 
allowed  to  test  my  skill  too.  As  soon  as  the  cookies  were 
finished  came  the  grand  performance  of  bogie-baking.  Such 
lovely  men  !  One  for  Marie,  one  for  Gerty,  and  one  for  me 
—all  with  arms  thicker  than  their  legs,  and  noses  bigger 
than  their  feet ;  or,  rather,  they  often  developed  these  pe 
culiarities  after  they  were  put  into  the  oven.  Two  pieces 
of  cloves  for  eyes,  and  a  strip  of  citron  for  the  mouth,  com 
pleted  their  charms.  Soon  the  oven  was  quite  filled.  The 
kitchen  grew  more  and  more  delightful  with  the  odor  of 
baking  cookies,  and  we  children  clustered  together  on  the 
great  window-bench,  while  Eliza  made  the  kitchen,  as  she 
said,  look  "  a  leetle  scrumptuous  "  again. 

When  we  went  up-stairs,  Miss  Ellis  let  us  play  in  the 
nursery  until  tea-time  ;  so  the  afternoon  passed  away  pleas 
antly  enough,  though  we  felt  lonely  at  supper,  notwith 
standing  the  cookies  and  our  beautiful  little  bogies.  It 
seemed  doleful  to  close  our  eyes  that  night  without 
iy* 


294  THE  LAND    OF  PLUCK 

Mother's  "  good  night "  kiss ;  but  Miss  Ellis  allowed  Marie 
and  me  to  pommel  each  other  with  the  pillows  for  a  while 
before  going  to  sleep,  and  that  was  a  great  consolation. 

I  cannot  recall  much  of  the  second  day  of  Father's  and 
Mother's  absence.  Probably  we  were  good  and  happy,  or  I 
should  remember  something  about  it,  for  clouds  are  apt 
to  make  stronger  pictures  on  the  memory  than  sunshine. 
Oh,  yes;  Henry  Garnet  came  in  from  the  country.  He 
was  Eliza's  husband,  or  "  ole  man,"  as  she  called  him,  and 
he  well  knew  that  he  was  always  welcome  to  a  home  with 
us  for  Eliza's  sake.  He  was  old  and  infirm,  and  would  sit 
by  the  kitchen  stove  hour  after  hour,  rising  only  when 
Eliza's  cheerful  voice  said,  "  Here,  ole  man,  just  fotch  me  a 
skettle  o'  coal,  if  you  ain't  grow'd  fast  ter  dat  yar  stool,"  or, 
"  Here,  ole  man,  just  fotch  in  a  pail  of  water,  will  yer?" 

These  little  demands  attended  to,  old  Henry  would  sit 
down  again  and  settle  into  his  afternoon  doze,  leaning  his 
head  tenderly  against  the  wooden  mantel,  and  folding  his 
hands  before  him,  quite  sure  that  "  Lizer  "  would  set  him 
up  straight,  in  case  he  "took  to  leanin'  over  too  much  to  one 
side,"  as  he  often  did.  It  was  strange  to  see  her  pause  in 
her  busiest  moments,  and,  walking  toward  the  dozing  old 
man,  straighten  his  leaning  form  in  the  most  businesslike 
way,  never  murmuring  though  she  had  to  repeat  the  per 
formance  half  a  dozen  times  during  his  nap. 

"Ah,  Miss  Ellis,"  she  said,  one  day,  "  men  is  unhandy 
things  ter  hab  aroun',  specially  in  a  kitchuin  ;  but  den  de 
old  gem'm an's  had  a  hard  time  bein'  knocked  about  in  dis 
woiT,  an'  while  de  Lord  spares  him,  ole  Lizer  doan  mind 
de  trouble." 


ONLY  A   ROSE  295 

Well,  Henry  came  just  before  dinner,  and  the  rest  of  the 
day  is  a  blank  in  my  mind ;  but  the  next  morning  stands 
out  bright  and  clear.  It  was  Sunday.  After  breakfast, 
Marie  and  I  were  dressed  for  church,  and,  while  Miss  Ellis 
was  getting  ready  to  go  with  us,  we  were  all  three  allowed 
to  walk  a  while  in  the  garden.  It  was  a  plain  city  yard, 
with  grassplot  in  the  middle,  bordered  with  a  flower-bed 
with  fine  rose-bushes  in  eacli  corner.  During  the  past  few 
days  we  had  been  watching  the  buds  with  great  interest 
(for  it  was  June),  and  now,  to  our  great  joy,  we  found  three 
lovely  new  roses  nestling  amid  the  green.  Our  shouts  of 
delight  brought  Miss  Ellis  to  the  window. 

After  gently  chiding  us  for  making  so  much  noise,  Miss 
Ellis  told  us  (especially  Gerty)  not  on  any  account  to  pick 
the  roses,  for  she  wished  the  bush  to  look  as  beautiful  as 
possible  when  our  parents  should  return.  Marie  and  I  saw 
Gerty  look  wistfully  up  at  the  window,  after  Miss  Ellis  left  it, 
and  then  walk  slowly  toward  the  bush.  We  almost  kneiu 
that  she  meant  to  pick  a  rose  (the  very  prettiest  one  of  all) 
hanging  within  reach  of  her  chubby  hand.  Either  Marie 
or  I  could  easily  have  prevented  it ;  but  Mother's  wish  was 
forgotten.  Was  Marie  "  keeping  faithful  watch  over  her 
sisters  "  ?  Was  I  "  steady,  keeping  out  of  all  mischief  "  ? 
No !  we  both  looked  on — Marie  indifferently,  and  I,  filled 
with  mischievous  glee,  thinking  of  "  the  time  "  Miss  Ellis 
would  make  if  Gerty  should  disobey  her. 

In  a  few  moments  the  rose  was  pulled  from  its  stem. 
While  we  were  looking  at  it,  Miss  Ellis  came  to  the  door 
of  the  back  piazza  in  plain  sight  of  the  blooming  rose-bush, 
which  was  still  stirring  after  its  tussle  with  Gerty. 


296  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

"  Who  picked  that  rose  ? "  she  asked  sternly. 

Gerty  held  the  flower  so  tightly  that  it  was  all  crushed ; 
but  none  of  us  answered. 

"  Did  you  pick  it,  Gerty  ? "  asked  Miss  Ellis,  in  a  sorrow 
ful  tone. 

"  'Es  ;  Gerty  picked  it,"  replied  Gerty,  backing  toward  us 
as  she  spoke. 

"Then  Gerty  has  been  disobedient.  Gerty  must  be 
punished." 

The  frightened  little  creature  began  to  cry.  Marie  and 
I  held  our  breaths.  Miss  Ellis  took  her  up  to  one  of  the 
garret  rooms ;  it  had  nothing  in  it  but  an  old  chair  and  a 
doll,  which  lay  upon  the  floor.  It  was  a  gloomy  room,  with 
only  one  window,  and  that  was  so  high  up  that  we  never 
could  look  out  of  it  without  climbing  up  on  something. 

Gerty  sobbed  bitterly  when  Miss  Ellis  told  her,  as  they 
started  for  this  room,  that  she  must  stay  there  alone  for  five 
minutes,  and  we  felt  half  tempted  to  follow  and  rescue 
her  by  main  force.  But  when  we  heard  our  governess  shut 
the  door  of  the  lonely  room,  and  walk  away,  we  ran  down 
into  the  front  hall  as  fast  as  our  legs  could  carry  us. 

It  was  now  nearly  church-time,  the  bells  were  ringing, 
and  as  we  stood  on  the  front  stoop,  waiting  for  Miss  Ellis 
to  join  us,  we  saw  the  people  walking  quietly  on  their  way 
to  church.  We  felt  sorry  for  Gerty,  but  tried  to  comfort 
ourselves  with  the  secret  falsehood  that  we  could  n't  help 
it.  "  Pshaw  ! "  I  thought,  "  it  was  only  a  rose,  after  all ; 
there  's  no  harm  done."  "  It  was  disobedience,  too,  and 
you  should  have  saved  your  little  sister  from  the  act," 
whispered  something  within  me ;  but  I  hushed  the  voice, 


ONLY  A   ROSE  297 

and  kept  repeating  as  I  stood  there,  "  It  was  only  a  rose, 
anyhow." 

By  this  time  I  felt  sure  that  the  "  five  minutes  "  must  be 
nearly  over,  and  was  raising  my  eyes  to  the  dormer  windows 
of  the  garret,  and  feeling  very  sorry  for  the  poor  little 
prisoner,  when  suddenly  I  saw  something  spinning  down 
through  the  air  from  the  very  top  of  the  house — spinning, 
falling,  nearer  and  nearer,  until  it  struck  the  iron  railing 
of  the  front  piazza,  and  then  fell  heavily  upon  the  stone 
pavement.  Oh,  it  was  Gerty !  Gerty !  our  own  darling 
little  sister ! 

Eliza  and  old  Henry  came  rushing  up  the  front  cellar 
steps.  I  remember  his  bent  body  ;  the  gathering  crowd ; 
the  quiet  little  form  upon  the  pavement ;  the  crimsoned  arm ; 
the  screams  and  sobs  of  Marie,  Miss  Ellis,  and  Eliza ;  the 
momentary  tumult  and  terror ;  then  the  awful  hush  when 
she  was  laid,  still  and  white,  upon  the  sofa.  Would  she 
ever  open  her  eyes — ever  speak  to  us  again  ?  The  doctor 
shook  his  head  when  Miss  Ellis  looked  imploringly  into 
his  face.  She  was  frantic  with  grief,  and  Eliza,  groaning 
and  crying,  dashed  water  upon  Gerty's  white  face,  without 
effect.  The  kind-hearted  creature,  even  in  her  distress,  had 
a  word  of  sympathy  for  Miss  Ellis. 

"Ah,  chile,"  she  sobbed,  "don't  take  on — don't  take  on— 
de  Lord  knows  yer  was  tryin'  to  do  right.  Oh !  if  dose 
bressed  little  eyes  would  on'y  look  at  ole  Lizer  jist  once. 
If  you  'd  ou'y  brought  out  de  chair,  Miss  Ellis — but  still  it 
seemed  out  o'  natur  for  de  poor  little  creatur'  to  drag  it  to 
de  winder  all  herself.  Oh,  doctor,  doctor,  is  she  killed  ? 
De  Lord  have  mercy.  Is  she  killed  ? " 


298  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

Soon  the  surgeon  arrived.  After  he  had  been  with  her  for 
nearly  an  hour,  set  and  bandaged  the  poor  little  arm,  which 
was  broken  in  two  places,  and  with  his  assistant  attended 
to  her  dreadful  wounds  and  bruises,  we  were  told  that  Gerty 
had  opened  her  eyes  and  asked  faintly  for  a  drink  of  water. 
A  messenger  had  gone  on  horseback  to  summon  Father 
and  Mother.  He  crossed  the  ferry  to  Long  Island,  and 
then,  lashing  his  horse,  never  halted  until  he  readied 
the  farm-house  where  they  were  visiting.  The  horse  bore 
him  nobly,  but  fell  dead  a  few  moments  after  reaching  the 
house.  Gerty  did  not  know  Father  and  Mother  when  they 
came.  She  did  not  notice  anything,  but  she  was  living,  and 
that  was  more  than  they  had  dared  hope  for. 

It  was  a  terrible  time.  For  weeks  their  little  one  hovered 
between  life  and  death ;  but  their  prayers  were  answered. 
In  course  of  time  she  grew  stronger ;  new  color  bloomed 
in  her  cheek,  and  her  pattering  feet  once  more  made  music 
for  the  household.  She  lived,  a  bright,  playful  child,  and 
not  an  invalid  or  cripple,  as  all  had  feared  she  would  be ; 
but  never  again  did  either  Marie  or  I,  while  thinking  upon 
all  that  happened  on  that  sad  June  morning,  dare  say  in 
our  hearts,  "  It  was  only  a  rose." 


LIMPETTY   JACK 


THE    BOYS    HELD    MANY    A    CONSULTATION     IN     FRONT    OF    THE    COUNTRY    STORE. 


LTMPETTY  JACK 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  very  stupid  fellow  whom 
nearly  all  the  boys  of  the  neighborhood,  "just  for  fun," 
called  Limpetty  Jack.  It  would  have  been  better  if  they 
had  pitied  him  for  his  stupidity,  and  tried  to  help  him  to  his 
wits  as  well  as  they  could.  But  none  of  them  thought  of 
that.  Probably  if  the  boys  had  thought  of  it,  they  would 
have  gone  to  work  and  helped  him  heartily.  But,  at  all 
events,  they  did  n't.  They  made,  instead,  more  and  more 
sport  of  him  every  day,  until  at  last  they  resolved  to  have 
some  very  wonderful  fun  indeed.  So,  after  many  a  con 
sultation  in  front  of  the  country  store,  they  worked  and 
conjured  with  an  ugly  mask  and  brown  stuff  and  wire 
and  long  seaweeds  and  big  green  goggles  until  they  suc 
ceeded  in  producing  a  horrid-looking  monster  —  that  is, 
when  they  had  persuaded  a  young  man  to  try  on  the 
mask  and  all  the  trappings.  It  was  one  Philigan  McDer- 
mot  who  thus  consented  to  join  in  their  so-called  fun. 

Then  they  took  Philigan  to  a  damp,  gloomy  cave  by  the 
sea ;  and  after  dressing  him  in  the  hideous  rig,  they  made 
him  squat  down  on  a  rock  in  the  dimmest  corner.  Such  a 
dreadful-looking  object  surely  was  never  seen  before,  and 

301 


302  THE   LAND   OF  PLUCK 

the  man  himself,  as  he  sat  there,  shivered  to  think  of  his 
own  appearance.  Well,  meantime  some  of  the  rest  who 
had  joined  in  this  cruel  plan  to  frighten  Limpetty  Jack, 
ran  to  find  him,  and  to  tell  him  that  "  a  gentleman  waited 
to  see  him  alone  on  important  business." 

"  Won't  it  be  too  jolly  ! "  they  whispered  to  one  another 
in  great  glee.  "We  '11  not  let  any  harm  really  come  to 
Limpetty,  but  we  '11  make  him  think  he  's  in  a  peck  of 
trouble  before  we  get  through  with  him." 

So  they  all  chimed  in,  "  Oh !  yes,  Limpetty !  it  's  so ! 
The  gentleman  wants  to  see  you  alone.  Very  important 
business !  You  '11  find  him  in  the  cave  by  the  water." 

"And  be  quick,  Limpetty  Jack ! "  added  their  leader. 
"  He  's  the  husband  of  the  beautifulest  mermaid  that  ever 
lived.  She  sends  you  a  bag  of  gold  by  him.  He  '11  be 
wanting  a  sacrifice  of  you  to  pay  for  the  gold,  but  never 
you  mind.  Do  as  he  tells  you,  and  all  will  be  right." 

"Ay,  but  I  will!"  cried  poor  Limpetty  Jack  in  great  glee. 
"A  bag  of  gold  from  a  mermaid  !  Bless  my  lucky  stars  ! " 
And  off  he  ran  to  make  himself  fine  for  the  wonderful 
person  who  sat  waiting  for  him  in  the  cave  by  the  water. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  just  when  Limpetty  Jack  was 
about  to  start,  he  was  joined  by  Philly  Mac,  as  he  was 
affectionately  called — the  little  son  of  the  Philigan  Mc- 
Dermot  who  now  crouched  in  the  cave  waiting  for  Lim 
petty  Jack. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  Jack  ! "  cried  little  Philly. 

"  No  !  no  ! "  answered  Limpetty  Jack.  "  I  must  go 
alone  to  get  my  bag  of  gold.  It  's  a  great  secret.  Stay 
you  where  you  be." 


LIMPETTY  JACK  303 

But  Master  Phil  was  a  self-willed  little  fellow,  and  he 
followed  Limpetty  Jack  on  the  sly,  slipping  in  and  out 
among  the  low  bushes  and  rocks,  not  showing  himself  till 
they  were  at  the  very  mouth  of  the  cave.  All  those 
thoughtless  boys  were  hidden  away  in  the  cave,  almost 
bursting  with  suppressed  laughter,  and  waiting  to  see 
what  Limpetty  Jack  would  do  when  he  should  come  upon 
the  monster. 

"  You  can't  go  in  with  me,"  whispered  Limpetty  Jack  to 
Philly,  when  at  last  he  discovered  him  just  outside  the 
entrance  to  the  cave. 

" But  I  will"  insisted  the  child. 

"  We  '11  see,"  said  Limpetty  Jack,  as,  catching  the  boy 
in  his  arms,  he  waded  into  the  water  with  him  and  set 
him  down  upon  a  great  rock  that  reared  its  top  out  of 
the  waves. 

"  Sit  ye  there  like  a  good  boy  till  I  come  back  with  the 
bag  of  gold,"  said  Limpetty  Jack.  There  was  no  danger 
of  his  being  disobeyed,  for,  little  as  he  was,  Phil  knew  he 
must  drown  if  he  slid  off  of  the  rock.  And  if  he  should 
try  it,  who  could  hear  him  scream  through  all  the  wailing 
of  the  sea ! 

"  Now  !  "  said  Limpetty  Jack,  as  he  entered  the  cave. 

"  My  stars ! "  he  cried  faintly,  as  his  astonished  gaze 
fell  upon  the  terrible  figure  squatted  in  the  corner,  "  but 
the  mermaids  have  a  mighty  queer  taste  in  the  way  of 
husbands ! " 

Still  lie  was  too  eager  for  his  bag  of  gold  to  back  out 
now. 

"  Good  day,  sir,"  said  he,  bowing  as  well  as  he  could, 


304  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

considering  his  wet  legs  and  the  trembling  that  suddenly 
came  over  him. 

"  Good  day  to  you,"  croaked  a  strange  voice.  "  I  have 
brought  you  a  bag  of  gold  from  my  wife." 

"  Many  thanks  to  her,  I  'm  sure,  sir,"  faltered  Limpetty 
Jack,  bowing  again,  and  stepping  slowly  forward  inch  by 
inch. 

"  But,"  roared  the  mermaid's  husband,  "  you  cannot  have 
it  for  nothing.  There  must  be  a  sacrifice.  Get  your  fine 
dog  Shag,  and  stand  him  on  the  great  rock  near  by,  in  the 
sea,  and  when  the  waves  wash  him  off  and  take  him  to  my 
wife,  the  gold  is  yours." 

Poor  Jack's  teeth  chattered.  Stupid  though  he  was,  he 
dearly  loved  Shag,  and  Shag  loved  him ;  but  he  could  not 
bear  to  give  up  the  gold. 

"  Your  Mightiness,"  said  he  plaintively,  "  could  n't  ye 
think  of  some  other  sakeryfice  ? " 

"  Not  another,"  bellowed  the  mermaid's  husband,  and  a 
low  rumbling  sound  seemed  to  spring  up  in  the  cave ;  but 
it  was  only  those  wicked  jokers  trying  not  to  laugh.  One 
of  them  had  whispered  to  another : 

"  Now  for  it !  Limpetty  's  so  scared  he  '11  never  remem 
ber  that  Shag  's  a  swimmer  ! " 

But  with  that  ugly  monster  before  him,  the  poor  dull- 
witted  fellow  was  ready  to  believe  that  any  impossible 
thing  might  happen.  Some  other  dreadful  creature  might 
appear  from  the  depths  and  drag  his  beloved  Shag  down 
under  the  sea. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Limpetty  Jack,  after  a  little  bewildered 
hesitation,  "  I  have  n't  any  too  much  sense.  That  I  know 


LIMPETTY  JACK  305 

as  well  as  the  best  one.  But  I  like  my  dog  Shag  too  well 
to  give  him  up  for  all  the  gold  of  the  sea,"  and  with  a 
great  sigh  he  turned  to  go  away. 

"  Hold  ! "  he  cried,  suddenly  recollecting  something.  "  I 
did  leave  behind  rue,  on  the  great  rock  in  the  sea,  a  most 
beautiful  boy.  I  did  n't  mind  me  to  do  it ;  but  he  would 
follow  me  against  my  will.  So  I  set  him  there  to  keep 
him  out  of  sight  till  I  could  meet  your  worship  alone  as  I 
was  told.  Yes,  he  's  there  —  a  most  beautiful  boy,  your 
worship,  the  son  of  one  Philigan  McDerm — " 

Oh !  but  you  should  have  seen  the  monster  spring  to  his 
feet,  cast  off  his  mask,  and  tear  out  of  the  cave,  he  and  all 
the  wicked  jokers  after  him  !  Limpetty  Jack  ran  too,  and 
now  he  cared  far  more  for  finding  poor  little  Phil  than  for 
all  the  gold  that  ever  was  seen. 

The  tide  had  risen  fast,  and  nearly  covered  the  great 
rock,  and  there  on  the  very  top,  with  the  water  close  upon 
his  tiny  feet,  stood  frightened,  screaming  little  Phil. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  waves — each  greater  than  the  one 
before  it — must  throw  him  off.  They  rushed  into  the  sea. 
It  was  hard  work; — but  Limpetty  Jack  was  first.  The 
rising  waters  were  knee-high  —  breast-high — chin-high; 
and  all  the  while  the  waves  were  dashing  them  against 
the  sharp  rocks.  The  strongest  of  them  drew  back  dis 
couraged.  Then  all  they  could  distinguish  was  Limpetty 
Jack's  black  head.  They  had  seen  the  frantic  little  boy 
leap  toward  it  as  if  Jack  had  called  him,  and  then  Phil 
McDermot,  who  had  stood  in  the  waves  as  if  turned  into 
stone,  was  thrown  violently  back  upon  the  shore. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes,  there  stood  his  little  son  beside 


'20 


306  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

him,  screaming  with  terror  at  the  father's  outlandish  dress. 
The  boys  were  crowding  about  Limpetty  Jack,  cheering 
him,  shaking  his  hands,  clapping  his  shoulders,  and  thank 
ing  him  with  full  hearts.  He  seemed  dazed  at  first ;  but 
after  they  had  hurried  him  into  the  nearest  house,  and  put 
dry  clothes  upon  him,  he  asked  for  little  Philly  Mac,  and 
wept  with  joy  to  know  that  the  child  was  safe. 

Strange  to  say,  he  seemed  to  brighten  in  his  wits  from 
that  day.  It  might  have  been  owing  to  the  shock,  or  to 
his  bravery  in  saving  little  Phil,  or  to  the  fact  that  people 
young  and  old  at  last  thought  of  helping  him.  Certain 
it  is,  the  boys  were  his  friends.  Never  again  did  even 
the  most  mischievous  among  them  play  any  prank  upon 
Limpetty  Jack. 


BUBBLES 


BUBBLES 

AS   TOLD   BY   JOEL    STACY 

IT  is  so  long  since  it  happened,  my  dears,  that  whenever 
I  think  about  it,  the  youngest  of  my  acquaintances  fade- 
quite  out  of  sight ;  dear  middle-aged  faces  grow  rosy  and 
youthful ;  Mary,  my  grave  little  wife,  suddenly  goes  dan 
cing  down  the  garden  path  with  a  skipping-rope  ;  our  worn- 
out  old  Dobbin  becomes  a  frisky  colt ;  the  tumbled-down 
affair  yonder,  behind  the  pile  of  brush,  straightens  it 
self  into  a  trim,  freshly -painted  woodshed  ;  and  —  well,  the 
long  and  short  of  it  is  this  :  the  memory  of  that  day  always 
carries  me  back  to  the  time  when  I  was  a  little  boy. 

You  see,  I  sat  on  the  porch  blowing  soap-bubbles.  I  re 
member  it  just  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  The  roses  were  out 
and  the  wheelbarrow  had  a  broken  leg ;  the  water  in  the 
well  was  low,  and  if  you  tried  to  climb  up  on  the  curb  to 
look  down  into  it  you  'd  have  some  one  calling  for  you 
to  "  come  away  from  there."  But  you  could  do  what  you 
pleased  on  the  porch.  It  was  so  warm  and  sunny  that 
Mother  let  me  leave  off  my  shoes  as  a  matter  of  course.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  can  remember  just  how  the  hot  boards 
felt  to  the  soles  of  my  tiny  bare  feet.  Certainly  I  can  re- 

20*  309 


310  THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 

call  how  Eover  looked,  exactly  —  he  has  been  dead  these 
dozen  years,  poor  fellow! 

The  lather  must  have  been  precisely  right,  for  I  know  it 
worked  beautifully.  Such  bubbles  as  I  blew  that  morning ! 
What  colors  they  displayed!  How  lightly  they  sailed  up 
into  the  clear  air !  Sometimes  a  little  one  with  a  bead  at 
the  end — a  failure — would  fall  upon  Rover's  nose  and 
burst  so  quickly  that  I  could  n't  tell  whether  its  bursting 
made  him  blink  or  his  blinking  made  it  burst.  Sometimes 
a  big  one  would  float  off  in  the  sunlight  and  slowly  settle 
upon  the  soft  grass,  where  it  would  rock  for  an  instant,  then 
snap  silently  out  of  sight,  leaving  only  a  glistening  drop 
behind.  And  sometimes  —  but  here  I  must  begin  afresh. 

The  little  girl  who  lived  next  door  very  soon  came  and 
leaned  her  bright  head  out  of  the  window.  A  bubble  had 
just  started  at  the  end  of  my  pipe.  I  did  n't  look  up  ;  but 
I  knew  she  was  watching  me,  and  so  I  blew  and  blew  just 
as  gently  and  steadily  as  I  could,  and  the  bubble  grew  big 
ger,  bigger,  bigger,  until  at  last  it  almost  touched  my  nose. 
Then  it  let  go  ;  and  looking  up  at  it,  I  saw  in  the  beautiful 
ball  first  the  blue  sky,  then  perfect  little  apple-tree  bran 
ches,  then  I  saw  the  house,  then  the  open  window  and  the 
little  girl ! 

This  made  me  shout  with  joy.  I  called  out,  but  the 
little  girl  was  gone.  Probably  she  had  bobbed  her  head 
back  into  the  room.  It  was  just  like  little  girls  to  do  so, 
you  know.  Then  I  blew  others,  and  knew  she  was  watch 
ing  me  again ;  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  Mother  called  me. 

Well,  I  cannot  remember  much  more  about  that  sum 
mer.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  were  peaches,  and  that 


BUBBLES  3H 

Rover  learned  to  draw  a  wagon ;  but  I  'm  not  sure  whether 
that  happened  just  then  or  a  year  or  two  later. 

The  next  thing  that  conies  up  is  a  school-room.  I 
must  have  been  a  big  boy  by  that  time,  for  I  remember 
having  my  pockets  full  of  marbles ;  also  I  remember  hav 
ing  a  black  eye  on  account  of  a  fellow  named  Townley. 
(Townley  is  in  the  sugar  business  now.)  Besides,  I  was  in 
fractions,  and,  though  I  did  n't  care  very  much  for  study, 
I  did  n't  wish  her  to  think  I  was  stupid.  Who  ?  Did  n't 
I  tell  you  ?  Why,  a  little  girl  who  went  to  the  same 
school, — a  little  girl  in  a  pink  calico  dress  and  a  white 
sunbonnet.  She  had  a  way  of  dropping  her  books  on  her 
way  home  from  school,  I  remember,  and  we  fellows  used 
to  jump  for  them  so  as  to  have  the  fun  of  handing  them  to 
her.  Well,  the  way  I  used  to  try  to  get  up  head  in  the 
classes  when  she  was  there  \vas  astonishing.  The  other 
fellows  tried  to  show  off,  too ;  but  I  knew  by  the  way  that 
she  did  n't  ever  notice  me  unless  I  spoke  to  her  that  she 
thought  my  bubble  was  the  biggest.  You  see  it  was  only 
blowing  bubbles  again,  after  all. 

Well,  time  flew  along,  and  at  last  war  came.  I  was  a 
stout  fellow  then  ;  Mother  said  I  could  go, — bless  her  brave 
heart! — and  I  went.  The  scenes,  the  horrors  of  that  war! 
But  we  '11  not  talk  of  them  now.  It  's  enough  to  say  that 
though  I  felt  patriotic  and  all  that,  I  specially  wished  to 
distinguish  myself  —  well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  in 
confidence  —  so  that  Somebody  with  brown,  laughing  eyes 
and  a  gentle  voice  would  be  almost  as  proud  as  Mother 
to  see  me  coming  back  with  honors. 

Blowing  bubbles  again,  you  '11  observe. 


312 


THE  LAND   OF  PLUCK 


"THERE  SAT  MY  LITTLE  MAN,  AND  IF  THE  YOUNG  SCAMP  WAS  N'T  BLOWING 

BUBBLES ! " 

Once  more  time  flew  along.  Why  not  ?  And  again  I 
found  myself  trying — this  time  to  make  money.  The 
day,  as  I  look  back,  is  so  close  that  the  old  faces  put  on 
their  own  look  again,  and  the  young  acquaintances  come 
to  light  once  more,  and  Mary,  my  wife,  no  longer  skipping 
down  the  garden  path,  sits  at  her  little  work-table  sewing. 
Well,  as  I  have  said,  this  time  I  am  trying  to  make 
money.  There  is  great  excitement  in  Wall  street.  Men 
are  being  made  ricli  or  poor  in  an  hour.  I  have  a  good, 
steady  clerkship,  but  a  chance  for  blowing  a  great  big,  big 
bubble  comes  to  me.  I  can  see  a  happy  face  already  look 
ing  up  at  me  from  its  golden  surface. 


BUBBLES  313 

Other  men  have  succeeded.     She  shall  be  rich  now ! 

I  blow  and  blow,  and  the  bubble  bursts  !  All  gone, — 
gone  in  a  flash, —  the  savings  of  years  !  Euined  ! 

I  hurry  home  —  though  it  is  but  the  middle  of  the  day. 
No  one  there.  I  sit  down  to  think.  Euined  ?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  Have  n't  I  health  and  honesty  and  strength  ? 
Have  n't  I  Father  and  Mother  and  have  n't  I  Mary  and 
have  n't  I  young  Joe  ? 

With  this  thought,  and  hearing  our  Ponto  give  a  brisk 
questioning  bark  of  attention,  and  Joe  calling  me,  I  stepped 
to  the  back  window  and  looked  out.  Surely  enough,  there 
sat  my  little  man,  and  if  the  young  scamp  was  n't  blowing 
bubbles  !  And,  if  you  '11  believe  me,  the  little  girl  next  door 
was  leaning  out  of  the  window  watching  him  !  Just  then, 
Mary  came  in, — I  mean  just  now,  for  the  fact  is  I  'in 
writing  about  this  very  day.  And  both  Mary  and  I  think 

O  t/  i/  i/ 

it  is  n't  such  a  very  dreadful  thing,  after  all,  to  lose  a  few 
hundred  dollars,  for  I  have  my  clerkship  yet,  and  I  'in 
determined  never  to  speculate  witli  my  savings  again. 
No,  I  'm  going  to  be  a  steady,  faithful,  hard-working  fel 
low,  and  Mary  and  Mother  and  Joe  and  I  are  going  to  be 
just  as  comfortable  and  happy  as  birds  —  and  —  and  — 

You  see,  I  am  blowing  this  new  bubble  so  slowly  and 
cautiously  in  the  sunlight  that  I  know  it  will  be  all  safe. 
And  right  in  the  heart  of  it  I  see  Mary — Mary  who  has 
looked  brightly  up  at  me  from  every  bubble  that  I  have 
ever  blown  in  all  my  life. 


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